In the clear expanse of the sky
we wait to see the contours
of our souls’ negatives.
We are far away from time.
Look, the buildings are already asleep
on the dried-up seeds
of annual plants,
the kites rest
their tails on the roofs
of our houses, then depart.
We have been living for years
within circled dates, via
agendas of cold joys.
Our ancestors have long been
statues bending their heads
towards the shoulder of each passer-by,
but we are outside of time.
We take eternity and give it back, take it
and give it back . . .