Your Sunny Conversations

The day contains so many
Voices and static phrases,
With its dry wind shifting leaves,

It might as well be haunted
By demons, ghosts, or angels,
Whatever names can create.

It’s a comfort in the mind
To have this brightly lit sky
Turning the stones almost white—

No mysterious shadows
Slink about in such plain sun.
See, the world is nothing much,

Barren of signaling shades.
Your phrases come from no one.