A BRIEF MEMORY
Untamed yet old fashioned,
a stuck up city is glittering on the hilltop
I know I love the people burning in yellow lights
I know they love the play of shadows
collapsing on the pine cones.
Overbearing peaks are
gliding down into the stream
A lacuna is where I drink from,
for there I have left the memory
of an accented laughter.
133