In The Mailbox Poem by Gandaya Moe Sat

There is a spring museum that shows the fall of leaves
There is the uncertainty of the morning
There is brokenness in the sky
There are lissom memories
There are common lyrics
There are dreamy laughs
There are running windows
There are tears of rest and sleep
There are stars that fall by mistake
There is a melting sweetness
There are highway languages
There are flowers that break easily
There are dumb night waves
There is on fire of the void
There are Aprils that are wider than the weald
There is the problem of a glass of red wine
There is a lighthouse that the gods stole
There is a dream country that birds do not know
There are lost footprints
I will stab my own shadow
On a dull branch,
The mailbox was found hanging.