Memory

In the memory of my eyes there still remain the black moments of distance without seeing you. In the memory of my lips there remain the dry, bloodstained moments without your lips. In the memory of my seed there remain the bitter moments of rotting in the flowerpot far from you far from you without your water. Hidden in my being are the moments of that death. Separation? No more! No more! I cling to you, with all my memory in every soil in every soil like ivy clinging to the living body of the pine...