Today I’ll take a stroll
all round the window pane
on one side fog synapses,
autumn leaves fuming on fire,
on the other side warm air,
whisper vapors condensing.
In the middle I stay crushed
bones’ and tears’ salt melting together.
I would prefer to stay inside glass
growing as a chandelier or a crystal willow,
I wouldn’t blossom or fade.
However sand grains hide in my palm wrinkles
where a green centipede is galloping