The sky is frosted green.
The night feels like that word:
Melancholy –
Restless searching lights
And the passionate silence.


Floating in elevated loneliness

The world is created anew
Every time I open my eyes
Leaving behind the nocturnal land,
I am the first word to break the silence
As earth breaks apart from the sky
And starts growing and growing
Am I the farming core
Preparing spring for summer
On a tiny star floating
In elevated loneliness.