Grazing on the clouds,
moon was moving
in a daze.

Someone will milk it
for the poor, who will not
sing for the inevitable.

Witch hazel will stop the
bleed of unholy wars
between the diminutive fidelities.

This was the beginning
of a dialogue― meant for
the deaf― who will listen with the eyes.

There was no consolation
for a man who lost his finger
while searching his ring.