Wandering off to the horizon waiting for morning to come, believing it'll be raining but hoping for sun
stood at the horizon waiting for morning to come.

Light
cuts sharply through the remains of the night and seems surprised to see me, so surprised in fact that it goes around me and bids me good day.

There are whispers here,
ghosts telling stories to the ghosts that still live, ghosts rustling through the ferns, everything turns about and at the end comes the roundabout and there's nothing we can do about that.

Again the horizon
here in the Amazon
where the marathon is
waiting
for the morning to come.