After the sun goes down
The West becomes blooming
The sun as violet
When come fireflies
To fall on the notebook,
Sit in the pen tail,
And sing insects,
The moonlight drops
Like sheep's milk
The bats fly
Close to my ear.
To fill my chest
With freshly floral flowers,
Is it beautiful,
Waiting for the morning,
After such a night,
With mist on the eyes?

1987

© Ed Martini