No sweetness ripens me,
and painfully time
drifts day by day
reviving with breath of harsh resins.
A tree wavers in me from
a sleepy shore, winged air breathes out bitter leaves. You pierce me,grieving re-greening,
chillhood smell that coveted by joy welcomed,
sick then from a secret love
of reciting to waters
Island of the morning:
at half-light re-rises
the golden fox
that was killed at a mountain spring.