One day, when time stopped running,
I saw the plain frame and silver threads
suspended like a gentle wind
above the breathing horizon of lost origins.
I sipped frequencies from the air,
as though I could gather them
into fragmented mosaics.

The Tower of Babel of misunderstanding
melted into a single vivid image
composed of scattered syllables.
I found myself on the margin of a notebook
coincidence, or a sense of density?

No one will change the flow of a rushing river.
Everything has been planned.
Who will take away dreams?
Symbols, premonitions?

All that I remember from
The future still lives in my skin.
The rest are only fears and mistakes,
The choices never taken,
The ones that carry me here.
I try to catch the present
returning to inevitability.
Its running away is the reason
I’m still breathing.