love, you sensed the rain
before it fell
like another easy beast
into the arms of sleep
and i half-believed
that bleeding was a virtue
at the lake of mirrors

i tried, i tried
to forget the murky colours
of your waning moon
dancing freely on the water
as if i had a reason
to sleep and lie
in light of all these folded blades
still pacing in the drain

Poetry is like flowers
growing in the trees;
Poetry is like flowers
fragrant in the leaves;
Poetry brings sweetness
to philosophy;
Poetry leads people to think
what life means?