In that place either silent or blind You're writing the only poem. In the backyard of time you've written the lines to replace words and objects.
Before the destruction you started the poem which no one can kidnap, which has no beginning. It's approaching the winter. The pen tip gleams. The last stroke in the dark brings the world to a sudden halt.
Those whose ears were stolen will never forgive. The disaster caused by the snow storm awoke all the intoxicated.
A gardener who keeps death and roses is trying to learn cool wisdom with the short days of his life. Doors and windows are tightly closed. How you wish you could keep your relatives here and let trees enjoy the silent twilight.
You're doomed to write this only poem. The breath of the blooming words is short-- you linger on.