A green hunt of words
does not dare to insert
the isthmus as indelible
mark between a future
and an unknown.

The fear becomes me. An
odius entry. Will you
help me to find the variations
in the storms of life deviating
from their narmal orbits?

I cannot separate you
my song, from the meaning
of the script. The indefinite thing
has the text of echos
coming from the stars.

The baby moon is climbing
up, to remind me: night
will not stay for long.