Abiding deep within limits of reason,
stacking the lines between movement and still,
abandoned or lost at the end of each season,
painting of clouds for some windless mill…
Sandpapered shores without door or a window,
oceanless depths all awaiting to fly,
scratching the bark under each weeping willow,
mourning a timelessness unwilling to die…
Awaiting the light in a memory of blindness,
something deeper than an image of you,
layers of void and impossible kindness
of so much desire and nothing to do…
Returned to the square of my early departures,
looking for mines in each barren field,
surrounded by arrows and eyelids and archers,
holding my life as a useless shield…
THEORETICAL PHILOSOPHY 