In evening

he decides the smell of trees will always be there, but morning chooses the grass, and to that chooses its change, for he thinks love loves different colors evening is for the color of the moon tonight, he held her hand yesterday, it was the purple of a certain flower, not the one he gave her for its color was yellow too and it smelled good for it was not too sweet not the smell of evening not the color of morning the morning sun shows itself for what it is burning the sky blue, while the flowers make the difference.

6 April 1973