Words create worlds.
As if nothing was born.
Or maybe we start again.
In a while, I revert to being a sky.
How fondly I will reminisce.
About my bones, my words.
And you……
Like birds returning
to deep forests.
Everything is alive.
And I will love the sun.
And I will love the moon.
And I will love the flowers.
And I will love you.
A Wandering Poet 