footprints on snow

behind me is the poet

he dreams

written poems on the snowed windows

behind the poet is winter

and

winter covers snowed words

from God hands the world going

yes

behind walls frozen walls

and cold

if you pass through the poem

you will get in a fruitful garden

but your dreams my poet are so fleeting

like

a woman coming out from her white hair

in the morning

she rise from knee

and go

who knows where

behind me is the poet

he no longer no longer he dreams

I prayed every time I prayed to

take my helpless hands

and write the gold poem

behind me is the poet

he writes

behind him is the executioner

and in the back of the executioner

is winter

the morning rejuvenates the windows

I still dreaming

people coming out of the dark paintings

back at me

behind me is the poet

he cries