Stop, Slow Down.

You step into the white fluorescent light
That my sight had so intensely captured,
And harvest spring fruits before my eyes;
Each single fruit piece is your gracious body.
But the white stream moves away and follows its path after
The courageous jet-fighter, with thousand feet per second
High in the air,
As do my eyes.
The white clouds seem to be struggling
With each other to go into whatever direction
As fast as possible, taking all sorts of forms.
Every small piece is another secret of beauty to me.
Every second one awakes anew, and builds
Its own peaceful kingdom in the skies.

I saw the plane descend behind the defoliating treetops,
And you disappeared the same moment
into the intangible haziness of the smoke.