You left footprints in the sands of my dreams
One last time could mean one last true moment of life

Existence is inevitably present
Life is rare

Bent over the tables
Or, sitting on an alphabetical carpet

Life can only be present if existence is tolerated
My tolerance couldn't have been possible without a moment of you

When tolerance is accepted
Life can become a redundant sequence of moments

Moments of you
However, "rare" depends on how much you give me

A peasant can ask for a morsel
I don't know how to ask for a millimeter/ of you

Ignorance can be baffling
Not at all bliss

Rarity prevails for one reason:
Ignorance*

A multitude of footprints you left in the desert/
That is my dreams.

Free of water and of you-All I have left/
are the footprints you left behind and a dry abyss of memories

The tables and the carpet/
disappeared a long time ago.