acacia boughs and myriad lamps
cicada, a childhood friend, brightly chirping
keeps close by my side in the pool of soft grass.
I am on an island: my chair, my computer,
a round glass table
we float away
no sadness, no parting, no tears for departed,
no memory, loss, no deceit, no regret;
I follow the clouds that streak the dark surface
of warm southern sky and I drink in the sight:
unreal, mysterios, casas de suenos,
a dream of a girl that is lost to the Night.