In unblemished irish,

the vision was a link

in blankness of thoughts, when

I was weaving a dream

around you.

Your cameo appearance

in flurry of tears,

rips apart my landscape.

The other moon wails behind the clouds.

In androgynous past,

you want to separate the sandwoods.

Death comes as a long sleep.

Your thick braid moves

like a reptile.

I have stopped scripting

the letters. Words float on the

carpeted domes.

Rains would not come tonight.