Disembodied night

Opens his eyes and his lashes

Sun did not burn the pond

Of deeply silent waters

Sky is erased of circles made by

Careless kites with broken strings

I wear the blouse of moon

My navel is concave like naked

Depressed earth

My arms are like the adventitious roots

falling from an intelligent tree

Standing alone in a hermitage of intellect


This poem is unfinished

Till it meets your eyes of desire

Like a pause without a shape

Waiting for your touch

to bestow the contours





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