I found this poem
undressed in a
restless - evening
I listen to the whispers of
butterfly - wings
my questions are
confused
the stubborn moon
only answers in
dramatic - rhythms
why does my mind
always run back
to those mountains
so far from me
I am a foreigner here
a fragile thing
I heard you are
writing again
I heard your
voice has become so
beautifully - Innocent
I know that I
stood in your way…
Clay.M