It was a fierce short summer.
A ripe trunk had died...

don't talk
don't scratch the surface...

You fall and embrace me
with shades full of dark...

Inspecting my skin like mad,
searching for a source of pain...

A mother has lost her will to survive
as Beirut danced to debris...

I dosed myself with restlessness.
Flapping into midnights...

On some mornings I stole birds.
I opened my eyes...

See calm in me
through glass reflections...

Find me.
In dim corners...

After you
I became creative...

I set fire to dusk hours.
Clouds of poison...

Sun of salt;
I vanished quietly...