Sometimes A Piece Of Sun Burned Like

Love Is Short, But Forgetting Is Long.

And What Has Become Of It, Where Is That Onetime Love? Now It Is The Grave Of A Bird, A Drop Of Black Quartz, A Chunk Of Wood Eroded By The Rain.

Perhaps The Earth Can Teach Us As When Everything Seems Dead And Later Proves To Be Alive

The Night Is Shattered, And The Blue Stars Shiver In The Distance.

Hands Make The World Each Day.