This last night of dying year
Orion is bright in the flooding seas of stars
But then what does this new year mean to them
Is it that they appear and disappear?
Then what does this New Year mean to us
That we disappear and never appear?
When my body my soul and my heart
Blooms into glorious yellow blossoms
In the meadows some day
When the rhythm of July rain
Echoes as my footsteps
In the fields of this valley some day
Though you are miles away
On my couch in this cold December night
I wrap a poem for you
In the warmth of my breath
In the scent of my tresses
So that when you open it
You read me in the poem.