Poetry

It was oneness, 
which brought my poetry 
in the folds of autumn. 
 
From words apart 
you want to talk in space 
for transparent signs. 
 
The city sleeps 
in morning mist, without 
opening the windows- 
of consciousness. 
 
I come out in open 
to watch the lone ficus tree 
waiting to become a deity 
of the walking shadows.