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.

my love
like a garden;

filled with flowers;
find way to them;

my love
Beautiful abandon;

rain them things;
rent these seeds;
should orchids water,

Doldrums.
Discords of Doldrums.
Beautiful. Beautiful.

You look at the paintings you were so proud of only a few weeks ago
and you hate them.
You want to spit them in a fire;
as if
erasing them
will deliver you from the embarrassment of ever having created them
and you slaughter your orchids.

You abandon the thought
in realization
that they simply misunderstood
your art.

the truth is we are such insignificant creatures.
       everybody thinks they are the lead role
in the play of life,
that the lights dim
                and they stand on the spotlight of center stage
with an entire audience in front of them, just hanging onto the edges of their seats
               let's change this scenario
                                                      to reality
the curtains fall;

               lights shut off,
there's an auditorium of empty seats

with not even advocation for the slightest moment that air sits here,

              even the silence doesn't,
                                                 it stays hung on the ceiling,
              
and back stage amongst the props there's a person
contemplating life,

                         a remnant of stardust,
exhaled throughout the yawns of the cosmos.