He saw his calm shadow stretched On the white silk-covered bed.
And the boy, angular, rigid Shattered the mirror with a hatchet.
As it shattered a vast wave of shadow Flooded the monstrous guest room.
The Dumb Boy
The boy is searching for his voice (The King of the Crickets took it) The boy is searching For his voice in a drop of water.
I don’t want it to speak with. I’ll make a ring out of it For my silence to wear On its little finger. In a drop of water the child Kept searching for his voice.
In the distance his captured voice Is changing into a cricket’s clothes.