Impacted in lunar surface,
the centuries of dust and
dust of centuries, were willing to surrender
orange love,
hovering over your trajectory.

The second death will not
come, flesh consumed.
I will draw your profile
in white desert of psalms.
Life was a big funeral.

Footprints in snow were vanishing.
I have come afar from the
home. I don't want to leave
the traces of my missteps.
Time was very venomous.

The roses will not die, never.