On the balcony, I sat in the sun following a sentence you had told me while asleep, saw it move inward and disappear in a sparkling diamond. You wrote a sentence on my skin to help me look through your eyes. All around I could only pull myself together to read a few random lines. I try to draw luminous eyes in my sentences. The ideal, whispers the quiet wind, is not necessarily the trimmed trees, the tightly composed book. I love to wake up and see you wake up.