It came without sound or rumor.
People called it love.
Loneliness crouched in the deep place
loneliness drinks poison.
And then you pass out.
On the poor white field, the evening is stained by dripping blood.
And then when you come to
people say that love has gone away.
It came and went without sound or rumor.
An apple tree uprooted in the desolate field.
Love that swept in like a typhoon
loved like fertilizer
and became a patch of dug-up dirt
And then
love went away.
But the people who loved are putting fine makeup on their faces
as if nothing had happened.