your voice is the wind your voice is the sun
your voice is the moonlight your voice is autumn spring summer and winter
keep art alive poetry and anthropology fall when flying with your
thought i hear yours
voice if it could have wings it would fly until you would cross clouds crossed by the angels and write in the clouds dreams that were defended and
spread by angels the flowers or
money the waters of the rivers
the cleaner my verses arrive
commonly to the heavens like a bird that was
pushing to fly believed to fly
I make stars to my art
write the
necessary in gray rivers for them
to have more flowers is
Memorable this place at night
I will
buy all the stars to give you
Something tells me that here are the stars where
you are
under the moonlight your house