Calm funerary monuments
tramples the parched ground of this deserts.
The recoiled shadowy boredom
submerges this incautious verziere of dreams.
Again the black flow of time
defeated the chariots of the shining age
and overturned in muddy fords.
Imbued in this fabric of memories
the present of my dubious certainties,
a worn edge
of worn-out years
where the past is pain
and the wait has already passed.
3am thoughts, of my late cousin, for my late cousin and our early dreams.