terracotta
second time makes the wonder grow fonder,
i guess,
those pines dabbed by a soft brush stroke
behind your sublime—a picturesque
high and mighty we passed by
in a swift glide of these tires,
my eyes skim in stunned silence
if you are a foliage,
and behind you is the backdrop
then I guess I can sense
what Goethe reminisced.
of a deep jungle forest
one can look the heights within
your heart,
of the island, we rest
at the back of the picturesque
i saw the wilderness
all of us are brought in
rise and shine, come the foggy carpet
above, covering the iridescent moon
while the shiny red, white
these buildings fortified a city
ah...
the season is never warm
it's cool,
but i've never felt at home like this with people like me
i bet
they talked about you too,
at the back of the glamour,
beheld your complete terra—
somewhere only we know
coated by quietude,
solitude,
in terracotta,
rooted the evergreen garden
if i will hurdle through a battle
and meet you once again,
and leave afterwards,
while you say goodbye,
i remember the elation
when you greet me back to your city
sitting top of the rest
waft of clouds sweep on me
blew my cheeks
cold and sharp
we go...
beyond.
when all the glamour is shed,
what's left
is what Wordsworth might have called divine
these romantics
these lunatics
and i,
only an innocent.
didn't i talk enough?
didn't i speak clearly?
but do pardon me,
i look above,
i look around,
then i look below
i saw a foot of nobody but you
until dentures are made by lines both straight and abstract
textured by shades of green,
shades of blue
both your feet and your skies
to witness a grain of me,
a grain of everybody
a horizon blocked by you
boulders of terracotta
coated by pines
one does not speak to call itself great
when one can stand and still be heralded as mighty
if i pass by once again
