I
the branches don't seem like strangers
they fit in greens, on greens
grass waves there.
Then someone will throw
them away.

lime in the milk of the sun.
            
is it ashamed of the garbage behind it?
                   II
Brisk is the feeling.
sunlight bruises beside the leaf;
below the wind when the breeze meets
each shadow
is like rainfall.
          III
            So it's you
            Baby blue,
            So it's you.