A yellow-painted house
In the corner, you sit, on the bench that every day you talk to
Flame burning in front of the screen
You think, your eyebrow hair and hair neatly lined up
Wilderness as a stacked pile of black grass calm
And your eyes promises to be a witness among the key
Sharp, like talking about things that did not sound
Then,
brought the evening meeting
Between woman and man guards screen
I’m the woman,
was hurriedly brought the cables package
To you wind instrument to heal his wounds
but,
until now,
You grin no longer preoccupied staring at the screen
You said “It was not me who can heal wounds..”
But the meeting has occurred
Though I asked,
Why make the flame loses evening light?
Why do not you just speak at length?
Why we are meeting the wind out of the yellow house?
I grab paper,
writing for the meeting, which probably do not want my end
Straigth to look for your shadow under the evening
And the eyebrows you're busy making a parallel formation,
even though your eyes are still staring at the screen.