Day by Night

Day by Day yet free not yet. Closed. Again. Opened, but clouded. Locked away. Night by night yet salt not sweet. Send Sunday flowers. Send magical storms. Send magical stories. At the end of spring there was a light, far greater than the orient. When scented blossoms reached their outer pink in dimensions that has never met another life beyond the photosynthesis can produce oxygen. As far as we remember, always side by side but yet leave a hand, to develop new colours. And when you begin to be satisfied, it is the day, the day the night.