Ian Yang (mitrm)

one thousand, nine hundred and nine
is the number of my views.

Through the narrow space between the leaves,
A tiny yellow butterfly can be seen
Dancing, flowing here and there casually
In the forest made up of golden light and trees.

my old work:

Let the Perfume touch me
As it always wants to
But it’s my bare hand that holds it
A bottle filled with smelly liquid.

It’s not you who approaches me
(Have you ever w…

_Today I came to see her again,

Knowing that she is standing still on the bank

Alone, facing toward the sea

A habit she gets used to eventually