The sound of
a flute
the whistle of the wind
an old-century bel canto
more ambrosial than
the allayed gale on the book
a siccative for the soul
beautiful and fibrous
warmer than the divinity
with a broken arm
outdoor on the walkway
the sound of flute
the wording of beauty
like being faced with the spring
and the cliffs
the first tone erodes
the stones
the second tone ******
the bones
the thrid tone captured
the thrills at the ends
of the neurons
like waking up
on a divan
in a morning.

Walking alone,
at the seaside,
relishing,
mountains,
trees and flowers,
watching,
escarpment,
cliff and clear water,
at the foot,
the sea and clouds,
united,
on the horizon,
the sky further,
further away,
the sea,
wider still,
and wider.

A sketch
A cigar burning,
smokes,
loitering indoor,
the acrid smell,
abrading,
the undersize room,
a solitary versifier,
at a table with,
rose motif,
scribbling,
the longings of stars for the clouds,
the pyrotechnics flickering,
the heat of wine,
evanescing.
Sleepless,
in the dead of night,
the fountain pen,
stranded on the paper,
staining,
arbitrarily,
till the break of day,
rendering,
ink wash painting,
a lifelike,
buttonneire of roses,
delivering,
words unspoken,
intricate sentiments.

The wind lifts you up
the waves are
your angry face
calmness is
your supple beauty
the tide is
your love for the earth
because in your blood
every drop of it comes from
the rivers on the land
the breadth of your mind
makes you immeasurably
wise and sophisticated
your underwater world
nourishing all lives
constituting
a huge natural ecosystem
the world is gorgeous and colorful
because of you
you don't change your character
your passion
your glamor
your vision
never
you believe that life is
always wonderful
and a sincere life is
your feelings that
come from
afar.

Outside the window
autumn coming
singing the song
of the valley.
The cattle in the countryside
awakened the autumnal breeze
the flowers next to the hill
drinking the autumnal dews
the golden waves of grain
clapping
all are listening
to this.

Sharpness
of a grain of sand
touches
the nostalgia in
the eye
chrystalizes
the escaping snow
an oil paper umbrella
hurt by
the winter
that took french leave
the fragrance of plum
torn and incomplete
between the dark and damp
narrow tunnel
the pearl of ideas
polished
the wind that
can't be caged
is searching
youthful days
the hasty footsteps
the tethered ideals
in a pond
in a city
caressing
old porcelain
a pool of water
aiming at
the color of willow
on the other
side of the dreamscape.

A thousand ships
crawling over your back
lying on two oceans
connecting the north and south
a commotion after nap
startling
the billows of the Pacific Ocean
and the waves of the Atlantic Ocean
a life in meditation
the dam to
the raised river that flows
through history
through generations
through a stranger's dream
through civilization and sin
banners with distinct color tones
hanging all over every port
with the attitude of an owner
welcoming
all visitors
Panama
a ship that travels
a river that connects
the world.