This sight

makes my eyes ache.

My sighs

make my I’s ache

I

ache

Silver precious
up the sky.
He says, “Local
Moon and Juliet.”
Like lovers cursed,
they end in death.

The poet writes
what he thinks are
delicious food of
the mind and he
cannot steal me.

Morning gods are
early birds who
cast their eyes on
the sleeping heads
and they cannot judge.

All the trains in
the station decay
like flesh of the
humans and I feel
the touch of the
invisible wind.

Oh, local moon and
Juliet are lovers
who are misunderstood.
They die together
without spending
thousand years.

2015