"And the Beauty Created by Others."
Only in the beauty created by others is their consolation.
In the music of others and in others' poems.
Only others save us, even though solitude tastes like opium.
The others are not hell.
If you see them early with their foreheads pure,
cleansed by dreams.
That is why I wonder what word should be used--
he or you.
Ever he is a betrayal of a certain you.
But in return, someone else's poem
offers the fidelity of a sober dialogue.