Maybe one day
I should have been born apart,
at a far distance from the place
where the embers’ shadow wriggles
on the ancient brick wall.
The circle of sun,
a spinning run’s print in the sand of memory,
tightened inside my body
like snow melting in March.
Maybe it was farther than dreams,
somewhere between the autumn seeds
sleeping like buried forests
with their crests tired of a high flight
bluer than the first silence…
And my shadow returned home