144

with the sealed lips
a little girl
tastes
the heaviness
of morning coffee

143

over the cup of
cold tea
chocolate covered berries
taste
insincere

142

at the daybreak
words are lost
in the sigh
waiting for the light
to fill their book

141

Cosmos
are the little hand
that used to sit
on my palm
carving a love song

140

the marmalade sun
rises
silencing
the hoarse tone
of winter birds

139

piece by piece
gathered
by the cuddling grasp
a broken glass
radiates an octagonal prism

138

with the desiccated colors
on the pallet
Cerelia's brush
can't portray
the harvest