Skylit my bright atrium, 
pumps the future. 
Which becomes the today 
righting the wrongs. 
I want to go back 
to my ancient furrows, 
hibernate and sleep. 
Let the life bloom on dead words. 

In vitro a tiny face smiles. 
Pink petalled 
a crooked moon goes up in the sky. 
Tangled thoughts resume 
the search perceiving 
the depth of the subway. 
The waves splash on the rocks madly. 

Celebrating my defeat, 
I burn my books. 
Cannot follow any path. 
Lonely I trace 
my truth in sands. 
Wind communicates the disaster. 
Still my hands 
break the branches, 
snap the thorns, bleeding.

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