Diagnosis of a Half Crazy Moon

Local time is now twelve past one
birds are back to their nest again
the sky is a big empty space now
and women are sleeping like a river 
I bathed in that river
before taking a flight to the border
of the night.

One who crosses the border
he never returns home
but birds come home every evening
time and word never come again
lover who shows her back
never ever will show the face
even if she comes it's not her
but the body.

Local time is now twelve past one
I see the whistling of the night
and I touch the color dropping
from the bricks of the wall of darkness
color turns into a butterfly
someone, from the other side of the border,
is playing a flute aloud
and river-like women has finally become
a point in the geometry of darkness
local time is now twelve past one.