they flyer out of your lips and fly
zigzagging up into the sky.
you follow with your gaze,
and tremble with desire, to fly, to fly after they.
You are a poet.
Yes. Blessed and damned, unhappy condemned by yourself.
you collected by hard work
yours pain, that’s what you focus on, and shrink to a point,
your internal pressure divides you into atoms and scatter you
to the world.
you have to become a miracle, and while waiting for a miracle you sometimes forget