Blowing the figures
in the figureless boulders...

In my loneliness
I have learned I am never...

My laceration
and your thorns are what the red...

For the frugal hearts
love is the most bankrupting...

Two white doves are making love
like for ever...

Darkness like mirrors
echoes all our intentions...

_Why must we achieve timelessness through time?
_ For the essence is torn...

Everything goes with
the flows, but the echo of...

Just for an aeon
I am left, in this moment...

How heavy and how
impatient is the river...

The darkness in me
is as vacant as I am...

At last
my bloom is withering...