Sun-scattered,
here and there,
a splash of worshippers
returning to their homes.
Coiled like ropes,
as a cuckoo’s
echo dies away.
Already it seems
like years and years.
My mind isn’t like yours,
more than just to
finish life’s span.
Coming, going, life and death.
The whole sun,
moon and entire sky –
and how to gauge
my love for you.
With my pen and coffee,
I sit comfortably –
and we can begin
to speak of life.