Writing on sleeves
to remember your departure
and becoming a stray cloud.
The maternal touch of the sky,
you can sleep whole life
on dense logics.
White sheets were burning
unannounced in the home.
I lost the key,
to open the door.
All I wanted to tell you about,
selling the roses.
Thorns must not go free.
The snake was shedding the skin,
time to hone on whetstone.
The tender loaf was ready.
