The heart is in small pieces

The troubled landscape of swaying

trees blowing in gusts of wind

rootless sea rises above

cliff where my

is the anchor of my life?

Throwing it in my skirts to catch

I would sinking my place in my dreams

for I am as Anno Domini.

Chords of human life

a song of joy and sorrow

raindrops secret sound.

Bouncing hair wind mixing

movement.

New words for them when it rains

then, dialect change shape

as the sea hugs the islets.

Sometimes the heart is in small pieces

and quietly whispers time to time to give

come to grief. Perhaps the time part of the scars

improve, I sometimes will out

this world from scratch.

When the water is too black,

and even the mother is no longer here

lamenting why the poor girl

provided with poetry again. I fell

from bad to worse, perhaps it sometimes

Allow?