Fidelity versus imagination

A mirror spumed with Luna’s golden waves. Pieces of paper floating across the big and light room - themselves like rain and birds -

Untamed youth

Frail hand
Confused by strange demand by wind and stone

Mute simplicity of goose

Water

The bell at the strings end of winter is lost
Water on oak, rough gale

Even the notes I made in the end of the book
Have fallen apart

Lost at the end
For memory or reading glass

window is wide open and the wind figures out its never-ceased steps,

Names upon the harp:

Today is Matthew Fluharty and Ted Hughes ‘Birthday Letters’ yesterday and then, its tomorrow – my waves, measuring the depth and longitude direction of sublunar sphere –

black starry nights and crying stones are thawed by the shadows of took off cedars