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These days,
I forget that I write,
Until anguish reigns my body,
Taking down all of it.
On some days love feels like
The relief of a glass of water
in mid-summer heat.
On other days,
It looks like a wilted flower
Drooping down, dead.
And I, a bystander,
Not knowing what to do,
Watch it day after day,
Until it falls down
Unannounced.
I might then think of burying it,
On the shallow mud
In my heart
But what do I do
with a dead flower in my heart?

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