Memory Feather
Memories float like feathers in the sky ~>>>Archive for cloud
The Station
White Blurry
Millions of lines are circling around
The roads mirror the sun
On the surface shadows are cut
Those places remember
Those days’ rain
Head hides behind the wall of glass
And forever wind passes
I stand alone
Beside maples and pines
A pale hair passes me by
Slowly under the clean sky
April.Pink
April sky seems pink and feels blue. Those tiny cherry blossoms begin to bud in March, when the faces are still pale and every glance is hurry and incomplete. The oblivion has been too long to see the black spots quietly spreading on the ground. One day, the morning twitter suddenly loses its rhythm. Then April finally comes and the huge blocks of white disappear from the sky. A breeze brings the tiny shiny petals to stranger’s hair, shoulder, and sole.
