Writing on sleeves
to remember your departure
and becoming a stray cloud.

The maternal touch
of the sky, you can sleep whole life
on dense logics.

White sheets were burning
unannounced in the home.
I lost the key, to open the door.

All I wanted to tell you
about, selling the roses.
Thorns must not go free.

The snake was shedding the skin,
time to hone on whetstone.
The tender loaf was ready.