drafty quiet embankments
of sanctuary under the blankets...
No, I don't think,
when I write. My poem...
some days,
the skies are dark and cold...
Half a journey, you want
a happy end. Beyond crossing the...
From within, a
fawned virtue follows...
Look how those branches
of trees are nestling within...
Going for a walk
Without a destination...
Engrossed in whiteness
rolling down from snow fall to...
The dust to dust phase
in between, you...
Homeless, you
remained on the...
Hips and the rose hips.
You bite your tongue. Desire...
Will ask hibiscus?
in twilight, to let moth...