Path

I came from a poem without autumn.
The light of your window is flickering
I fell a dream in the summer transition
You are chosen by the god
The beginning of a story
Painting and smoke clouds are secret liars
At intersections without street lights
Truth and fate become the guide of dreams
The forest of the sky blocks the eyes of the stars
Maybe follow the bird language
You recognize the direction of the wind
Maybe you caught it.
Whispers from different spaces
Maybe you have forsaken your heart.
Weak shout
After all, you hold on
a strange sky
after many years
When you lean against the lounge chair, shake the fan
Thank you, some bend
Where a migratory bird is going