Q u i d a m

Bitter spring (III)

For a picture, saying thousand words

have you ever seen dream merging

in a wave? In a weird golden foam,

I've always seen voices, stripped

over fiddle, if you pull one string 

apart, it will fall out. 

maybe you've never seen sun fading

out in a grey manner, relics on frozen

ground, leaves: grooming rapidly

until someone comes with knife, 

"Chopped, chopped!"

It sounds good for your help (relatively)

Was it so? In a flatbed trailer of life, 

in a light room, in a secret room,

you'll see a caged bud, sighing

in the corner. 

Shall I look for candle light?

but it's curled up in silver cut—

another new cut, in new pines

season buds falling head over

from summer to winter. 

— 11th February, 2024. 

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