Evening
The children who play in the spring dusk
far away echo —
the breeze whispers and remains
in the lips of the rose petals
the open windows that breathe the hour
my vacant room —
a train coming from a foreign land
my vanished dreams
chime of bells that fades, evening that descends
onto the city —
onto the faces of people, into the mirror of the sky
in all my life right now.
