
what we do on Sundays
belongs to us, only,
and what we see through the branches
will stay between us 
what we do on Sundays
belongs to us, only,
and what we see through the branches
will stay between us 
let go of things
all the way, with the winds
and they organize themselves
like spring

in front of the artificial pond,
I do not expect much
Yet
debris are shimmering
(it all depends on the angle)