Three Seasons

To vist the Seas my fluttering sails l see.
Brother to the Marlin together in the night.
Pucking at the moon her refluction in waves.
l raise my bardly which on the rising tides.
Oh rise, gentle sun, golden in your reach.
And weave, dear Moon, your silvery filament.
Unveil away the darkness that over me hangs. . .
One this funered cloth my they ,my Preshiment.
Upon a lake a lotus wish l be.
Scenting the day's breath
with fragrance and poetry.

Searching in the wind
for traces of my formed spirit. . .

The discovery my reflected present
Can l see. . .
that was the last poet l wrote.
Before l lost my fingers.
You may leave now.
l will lend you my fingers.
You do not want to be bothered
with a bitter man's thoughts.

l would not be here if it was bother.
You should leave. .
. . .before others begin to worry.
. . .we could start tomorrow.