the bird
of my dreams was shot
dead
my shadow
wanders aimlessly
breathing
in unison with my shadow
I wait
for his time
slain by night
my life
has withered
verse by verse
in the rhythm
of short, long, short, long, long
if I die
without footprints left behind
I will be lost
among floating snowflakes
in a world of one color
Lynx, XXVI:1