- H a u n t i n g - F o r e s t -

I am your land dry, spit- you are my sky, heavy with rain, humidity I expect from tears dry- moisture expects dried rye. You gently cover me - foggy emerald- I abhor you eagerly - a magical ecstasy, I ride in the morning - with a fine butterfly, the world is silent, staring at us. Recklessly stunned, long- fusion mysterious, beginning and sin, Morning Ink, Autumn Chestnuts crying leaves and tears on them.