Searching hot plasma
in your eyes, which
changed me for all times.

There was no legend,
you crashed on the spikes
swaddled in pain.

Thinking again in
circles. What did you give
me to keep me looking
at the cruciform shapes?

The war goes on.
Repeating a poem hurts again.
A gift must have
a sun and clouds.

The rage sins.
There was no chaste moon.
I never reached the
right word.