these poems

are made of candlelight

on a winter’s eve—

is there anything new?
an idea untouched,
a daring act unseen—

what path leads
to true freedom?
the subtle release
along the road,
where birds merge with sky,

bubbles rise, 

neurotransmitters fire,

cycling in and out

waves breathe in the world;
our lungs, our connection
to the ephemeral

nature is reborn 
through continuous 
change

the city buzzes
with electric frequencies 
beyond comprehension

flying over
the half harvest 
moon, tokyo 
sings

flames touch,

kisses refract 

across crystal skies

deep down, 

you have always 

been a poet