19h19

Rummaging dusty fingers

into the shabby pockets

of my white flowing dress

what´s left, what lingers?

whispering, I must confess,

---

Dying petals and sand

free curly salty hair,

in the chest my closed hand

and lungs full of sea, its air.

---

Walking in a blue, blue mirage

Nightmares are waving, turning white

Nightmares are lightning, turning bright

---

burning less slower

by plunging far, far

and over.

maraabreu