I paint great things in the sky;
An airplane flying high, or
A seagull and his red eye.
In the distance – white clouds passing by,
Lining up like a good rhyme.
Above – anchor-shaped white trails
Painted by planes waving goodbye,
To some lands left behind
And their antheap harbours, embarking into the blue dye.
Beyond – skeleton-white, the half-moon lies.
Below – blue waves bleaching pebbles into white;
Their sound shapes the image I see,
And this painting above the sea;
My brush is a pen, and there are great things in the sky.
