THIS IS THE GHOST
THAT MOVES
In fact, transforms. One day it's a tree, the next
day another form. Ephemeral matter gone.
All these human hands, they can't make
anything ever. They shake their minds
at treasures and wind up losing it all.
Like a frog on the edge of the muddy
bank, making noises, looking out,
but good for nothing else at all.
-
Have you ever seen women drinking?
They get tipsy in such a different way
than men do. A dance begins, their fine
heart soars, they can' sit still. Evasive,
they get up just to move around. The
men go blind, all because of that.
-
Now the little rain is touching leaves.
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