in waiting, decayed by sleeplessness, eyelids got an out-of-the-way
independence but the stubborn street lamps still refuse to light up.
with a delirious skill, tireless darkness licks out and out around.
any of commonplaces that studded the past could become a marvel
but everything seems to be compressed into a mean moment
that doesn’t allow you to feed yourself with remembrances.
neither to hold by the hope that it could be an electricity interruption
nor that you could count, at least once more, the mosquitoes beaten on the ceiling.
and you start regretting that you didn’t beseech someone to whitewash the room.

surprisingly the stomach’s gap turns suddenly into an immense pupil through that begin to chase beloved faces among sceneries from all seasons