TRAVEL NOTES

I am afraid of beds

The more immaculate and bigger the bed is

the more intense my fear

Winter is coming

and the wilderness is no longer crowded

I am afraid of this lonesome inn on my journey

Nervously I take another look

at the cooling sunset, and

dying branches on the riverbed outside the window

With the window closed

I sit among four pillows on my bed

as if sitting in the most desolate place on earth

Such vast and immaculate desolation

feels just like this poem