1.
Winter’s grey dusk lies hollow,

virtue of warm tears melts into,

as it snows onto,

and everything whistles above the soil.

2.
Passengers arrive at the house,

in black silk robes,

hems soaking in cold water.

Drenched.

Their eyes too, soak in the hollow sights

of inner, perpetual, agonizing upheavals.

Their eyes freeze and fall,

fragile winter tree glass *****.

No house remains in sight.

3.
The moist skin of the sky

elongates its soft arms,

laying the cold body on the ground in slowness.

The beautiful face of the body cries:

sweet liquid of happiness.

It’s alive, brined in everythingness.

4.
Love the darkness in closed eyes.

Love the somberness of your soul.

Love all the murk shapes of nature,

and the ominous abyss in yourself, behold.