I waited late into the night at the dispel of the contours white birds and black birds came to sit on my shoulders it smelled like dried grass and I witnessed the naive fall of the first snow
what will remain when there will be nothing a child smile covered by forgetting always someone will say "I love you" always a little dead behind the green eye
in poems you should waste yourself here everything is splendidly useless only maybe the blue sky meadows and fir trees in a lonely day this absurdly beautiful offering given into to the void just as a life that no one lives it