Waters are rippling again.
I can’t quite reach my image anymore
I hold the stream with my long narrow hands, but the grip isn’t masterful enough.
It’s the future and I know it.
But still the waters run, they teach me
Knowing isn’t commanding, better to wait and run.
My pupils, contracted to a pinpoint,
Offended by sun’s projection on things.
No, I can’t see things,
Not with that light,
To move in transparent darkness, the medium of dreams, that is where I strive.