There it comes,
the shrewd compassion,
my scars are opened widely,
waiting to be identified,
windows reflect the emptiness,
except the one,
which faces the North,
in the heat of night
it looks like the Northern Star,
I can hear
across the miles
the roaring clouds, full of thunder,
for some reason
they don't want to accept my shadow,
standing on the edge
of Gulf to Bay.