Arpeggio A6
Sometime,
Your feet in the mud,
Several hours left,
What is the echo of each step
We need to stop, take a look,
What we have seen is strange
In the way that we travel.
I branched out, I open myself to the dark
And the bright. First my form,
seen and known.
Nothing prepares us for the truth
Of gestures and silence,
More difficult in its most abstract form.
Our steps hold us as
A pure philosophy of dreams.
Press the thumb on the temple,
Inquire into the length of the braided rope
And cling to the steep wall.
Know if we live among eroded raindrops
And the acceleration of the clocks.
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