I now write into a yellow colored paper
A mass of yellow of an electric sheet
Of many crawling letters,coming to life
As my another night moves on to decay
Spurred on by a fading cricket's noise.
A blind poet wrote yellow before his dark
Who wanted to remember the last world
As a yellow world that stood out in fog.
A fog can only be gray like a frog visible
Only by its leap across the rain puddle.
A yellow sun that stands out in the dark
Stays in eyes as before they are closed.
Words are little frogs in this yellow sheet
Visible only by sudden jerky movements
Across long stretches of accruing meaning.