Ode to a petite angel
what do we do today,petite angel?
shall we drink red bull because
it gives us wings?
shall i offer you a fig,and say:
ah eat this,the fig is fruitful,
always. love is always fruitful.
here,in september,in seasonal rain;
we will love the climate change
in our own ways.
september,full of joy,finished
augustus-freedom above all,
the crow scaling the skies will drop,
and witness love growing from a stone.
great art life is,like a river,
so capable of dying and re-enacting,
the water will flow,somewhere.
we avoid the ocean because it's too far,
the seas are too salty,
our rivers are tearful enough.
tears are like pearls,
though they are not tagged;
the ending of tears comes with a hefty price.
but,angel,here in september joy
we will sever the nourished soul
from further questionings and answers,
my heart is swelling today,feel
the strong rhythm it beats for you
before it become quiet
unshuffled by the wind.