I had asked the tree’s bark
why pain roughens my body.
The forest frowned with all its wrinkles,
pointing to the sky.
Sunbeams were spinning
like clock needles between clouds,
and I figure it out
that the sun washes my daytime
then falls asleep in the blue valley
besides the horizon.
I set my head down on naked earth
waiting for evening to come.
My heart was tired like a well,
fed by the same blood
through which light uncovers the world
flowing in my eyes.