From here on I'll have time for evening
forget, or
to kill me all the time in a memory.
From here to evening hours will be
Spring
composed of solitude as if it were true that you were and you
time does not add up. A thought
shaped
you move, like wind,
the branches and leaves.
in Start, in the eternal distance,
while I watch you go, just to survive,
me
only to me in the silence of stone
and where water
return.
