Out Of The Time

I wake up on time, just,

of seeing him leaving for the window,

open, of aged my soul.

Nor instant, it must observe him

the faces but, I was able to, at least to see,

of passage, the whiteness of yours

long hair to the wind.

No resigned, insistent,

childbirth in your pursuit;

I run, impatient,

same barefoot

and I reach him.

I look in your eyes,

and I recognize: it is "my time ".

There of the bottom, well from within,

of your old wisdom,

he looks at me in the heart and in

deep and clear silence,

it transmits me the truth:

" I am your time and

already passed ".

Picture by Deanna
Use autorized *

26-5-2001 -  22,20 h

Music: Autumn Leaves