Right Point

His face an eclipse I gazed upon for too long,
halo of saints & wisdom of the wisest,
distant light can never break through holes.
His music – muscles stretching poetry.

Enough with poetry, criminal coveting of my eyes,
rendering objects – peaks & mountains.
Nature seems to be his, well as deep as thoughts,
I cut the rope & stay on the surface where I can
enjoy the sweetness of shining apples in the sun.