We become the glints in the curious eyes that squint at the sun
the lighthouses in time of the ghosts at the edge,

I balance on a flywheel hoping to feel the spring coming in.
all I feel is vulnerable,

incapable of movement
watching galaxies burn
and trying to stay cool.

time become faster the slower I get,
but I cast out my voice
hoping you won't forget me
while the ghosts wait there for me
to fall.