to hope but hopeful be not,
to see, but not embrace, the sunset
as a last chance to forego
that stealthily approaching night,
when all that stays awake is a silence,
uprooted after storms,
which wait for it to call
itself into forgiveness –
not missing,
but subsisting
in remembrance of others,
just like a thread tied into canvas,
too tightly woven into space,
as others build that mould for one’s existence
not predetermined but converging
with all those patterns falling into place.
–
(inspired by the sounds of ‘Dream 3’, by Max Richter)
–