I do not wish to forget
how you rise in the morning...

Transparent water bottles
smell of fresh books...

You brought in peace
by leaving...

The gales howled down
out of my house...

You held a basket of yellow lemons
fresh and bright...

Gasping cautiously
yet not everyone survived...

Roses in your stiff hands
melt my heart...

I can see the black forest
deep-rooted inside you...

True, writing poems
doesn't mean I'm a poet...

Dried,
and crushed into rage...

When a long novel
is signed in misfortune...

...About the humid weather
and the foggy mountain...