All that I lost, I missed, and all that I’m missing.
But she is there, right on time.
In the stream of unlimited moments she is out there awaiting me to bump into.
What if I can’t see all her beauty,
What if it’s always not enough?
Any thing stimulates me; everything is about you.
Thirty-three autumns that past,
Last words of the three thousand years old sacred tree,
World that has yet to come,
Mysterious tingling.
The tiny notes that remind me of the existence of a you.
(This work was partly done last October)
