A timid finger pokes through the horizon
As it points out to an evaporating sea.
"I know her," he says,
But the ocean blends with the sky,
and only blue remains.
I only want to live a life worth living.
We look at a Klein on the wall -A cruel month where irises bloomOn Dutch fields, wilting,Bleached from an eternal sun.The art of creation feels better than the creation itself.