read a book
or watch an ant,
stand at the balcony
millions of same story
in different clothes,
you can even think of that person
whom you carry in your brain
like a nagging dripping rain,
listen to the footfall of the day
that had already receded; or
stare at your sorrow.
Your sorrow is a tree that was pulled out
but whose roots had spread all across,
your sorrow is an old photo on the wall
that was removed long ago
but the square imprint remained,
Your sadness is a blood red hibiscus
with a red bud and a red corpse.
And then, suddenly, ... perhaps ...
in the smell of a dovetail autumn wind
or in between your shadow and the soul
you may find peace.