Sometimes an embrace
is cozier...

- How far should I go before I arrive?
- All the way...

Was it the disease that killed me
or...

Horizon is the
paradox of arrival...

We live in time
and die...

Each figure is a silence
shrivelled...

Like a sponge that soaks
our share of moist...

The horizon is glorious—
unbroken, when your beauty...

I dream of you
in jazz...

Time spills from my hands,
slipping through the slits of fingers...

Watch the mirage of
your question in the distance...

All in silver and grey
in the dying bed...