“Snow,” I heard,   and the fossil,   a star collapse became words

The goddess of this town in her white 19th-century dress still

Sits,    like a letter that has gone out by opening the envelop

*

At the end of May    the middle finger was transparent

Like the wind,    like a single machine

Rolling up summer galaxies flickering from the brain

Touching the first sound of VOCALOID    with the bone