Twilight song of a cuckoo
taps the window softly...

For the sake of lake, I climbed
on the weeping hills...

A chilled moon was standing
between the lovers...

Mooneater, I am my poem:
fantasy of words...

The template had the fault,
I was buried alive...

Deep inside
there was a simian jealousy...

I stay connected out of the body,
with fireworks...

An evening primrose glides,
on my rough hands...

Joining the names,
a nameless melancholia crosses a borderland...

Night melts into tears,
day sums up the pain...

An uneasy blood cascades
in the slender arteries...

Again I would hear the night sounds
through the hours of civilities...