I can never find poems in the night
When you slept with windows closed,
Slurry wind taps to open the words
You filled with honey and mist,
Smiling for the repressed sorrows
Which cannot borrow the breath
Nesting in the desperate air,
Unfazed in the drunkenness of wine
You have tasted yesterday night,
Only few hours to daybreak
Still searching the old photographs,
Inside the worn clothes with holes
That kept you warm till last winter.