TO M (Part 1)
March 12th 1997, Koeln
When the wind blows
I become a piece of falling leaf
Floating in the wild torrent towards the ocean
Cradled, pushed, and crushed
But I manage to stay on the surface of water
When the night falls
I become a carefree firefly
Easy to spot but difficult to capture
Fly all night long until the dawn
And I become invisible when the first morning dew dries
When the spring comes
I become a seed in the soil
Eager to see the sunlight after a whole winter's waiting
Absorbing all the moisture I break through the earth
Only to find it is already green all around
But I can be a river too
Providing you with the constant water flow
I can be the night
Wrapping you with the boundless darkness
I can be the soil
Storing the water for your growth in the spring
Then, tell me
What do you want me to be?
TO M (Part 2)
May 1997, San Francisco, Morning Due Cafe
Who is walking towards here from the bay
When poppies are blossoming along the way
Who is bringing the fog from the ocean
When the city is throbbing with the faintest emotion
Who is weeping at the riverside
Where the waves whisper all the night
Who is looking at the starry sky on the hill
Where trees have aged a thousand years
Who is strolling in the lonely street
Leaving a shadow long and lean
Who is lighting up the candle in the empty room
Meditating on his sorrow and gloom
Who is putting down his luggage on the station
Waiting for the train without a destination
Who is loitering in the backyard garden
Searching in the May flowers for the exotic fragrance
Who is shepherding on the green prairie
Ready to tell another wolf's tale
Who is tolling the church bell in the village
Eager to spread an unexpected message
...
To M (Part 3)
May 1997,Muddy Waters, San Francisco
In my dream
I saw butterflies
Dropping to the ground
As petals of cherry blossoms
And the broken mirror
Sustaining its shape in the frame
Is calculating
The number of days
I put down the shade
Close the curtain
And stare at the white sheet on the bed
Our white sheet
In the distance
A big bird is flying over
To M (Part 4)
July 1997, Sitjes, Spain
The story I wrote
Last September
Has already been forgotten
The clear sky
Is waiting to be covered
By the floating fog
I walk over
Numerous streets
Looking for my perfect window reflection
Winter marches over
Ruthlessly
Without my invitation
You wave your hand
And Disappear
In the dust of the metropolis
The gigantic redwood tree
Is obligated
To complete its annual growth ring
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