Mornings from May
Under a sun that melts all
A cock is singing

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Autumn writings
The scent of own cheeks
Has a pleasant smell

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The perished singing
In the clearing of the valley
On the sky the moon

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The bright day light
Totally blindfolds my sight
With rays of the sun

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An orphan infant
Next to a dry fountain
A gentle pussycat

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The bright day light
Comes in through my window
Moths on my jacket

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Smoke from a cigar
I’m imitating a song
In a restaurant

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Some poultry
On the shelf of the sky
The night’s mystery