In the middle of the middle
of no space
a pair of yellow, childlike eyes,
innocent and with
just a trace of oblivion,
opens

Not everything needs a poem
Sometimes
it’s already

good enough.

Under the gallows wet tree
I sat there alone
The droplets drenched my left shoulder
Free birds sang a good song
The sky above was blue
But gloomy on the east side
The sand was sticky
I felt the grains on my dry feet
The sun hid itself behind the white cotton clouds
The trees stood still
No breeze but it’s cold
After morning rain it was.