Small creature, why are you here?
The forest is only a minute away,
and yet you chose concrete.
Did you die of fear?

Small creature, I cannot be so bold
as to stop and lift you into grass
for I have commitments
Did you die old?

Small creature, on cement you lay prone
feet in the air, nose up
food for some passing hawk
Did you die alone?

The terra is only one
planted in clay soil
one planet of earth!

The sneaked out nightingale
here is never gone.
Unleashes soprano  
at the same ancient roses'
still a perfumed home!

It's the starry upside's
dark down deep hole.
Sunset melting shadow
down the half light moon!
Eyes on in toto cool
after the day painter sun
is done colouring in full.

Guess, up from the sunrise mountain
who beams back tomorrow
into this unfathomed serene clay-mole?
Again see the sun follows by the moon!

I’ve discovered my strange passion for whack a mole
And mind you, I’m the mole
Whacked away
To the point that I’m buried deep deep under
And the saddest part is?
I’m also the one doing the whacking

Once for the witches rabbit hole
And twice for the foxes hymn
While one began to pluck her mole
The other tricked and teased men
Though two and the same
They’re known for different years
And both are to blame
For trickery and fears

‘Earth’
maybe a mole
in the mountain of space.
But the story is bigger
than any epic tale.

It's the one scoops
the bottom line
of the bottomless space!

Small simple finishing
tells the complete tale
'as above, so below'.
One that takes into
account all the matter
and the entire space.

The story goes on
The fine earth takes its place.
Now the mountain
sits on the mole space!

We're just 1 mole of inches away,
Just 9,501,262,626,262,624,256 miles away.

I stared at her
I knew then she’s unique
But I saw confusion
Still thinking if she’s real

I stared at her
Saw her lovely eyes
Not blue but brown eyes
It is so deep that I want to dig

I stared at her
She looks like always trying
I want to reassure her
That she’s already enough

I stared at her
I realized she’s beautiful
Even though years grew on her
There’s one thing I love about her

The mole above her right eyebrow

Then I put the mirror down
No longer staring at her.

I would let your fingers
into my shirt
to carve pictures
into my back
with your nails,
and I would guess
your drawings
as a game.
You would always veer
from the mole, but
sometimes you
would accidentally
scratch it;
I would
always apologize.