At dusk, far away on the horizon,
The sun’s brimming pot of sunshine upturned,
Shadows creeping,
Draped over me like a pashmina shawl.
The night’s stars shimmering on my skin.
My body feels like an incandescent planet.
Is this what the cosmos is made of?
Earth kneaded in Brown hues,
Voluptuous cream and leftover light.
Is this what moonshine is made of?
As I speak to the moon,
It’s crevices and layers resembling my own.
As the night whistles in the distance.
Aromas of wild rose and the taste of pure water feeds my soul.
What is this fragrance of ignorance prevailing the sky?
One more dawn,
With its brimming pot of sunshine.
Did yesterday leave already?
Holding on to my limited view,
The world must be round.
For the horizon is all I can see.
Wondering with bland amazement and despair.
How do I measure the sudden bursts of random melancholy and satisfaction?
So much of the universe,
Hidden in bundles,
Wrapped in the mystery that is time.