Lightly, lightly, very lightly A very light wind passes, And it goes away just as lightly, And I don’t know what I’m thinking, Nor do I wish to know. I try to say what I feel Without thinking about what I feel. I try to place words right next to my idea So that I won’t need a corridor Of thought leading to words. Does a flower really have beauty? Does a fruit really have beauty? No: they have only color and form And existence. Beauty is the name of something that doesn’t exist But that I give to things in exchange for the pleasure they give me. It means nothing. So why do I say about things: they’re beautiful?
