the sinuous glare of the storms has woven the tail of the comet, it is (we are) not nothing, calm
there in the center of the crystal sphere, stay
listen out
breathe that color
it is the smell of the wind that is born of you
it is the sound of the sea of silence, where the waves are one, dreaming of its own possibility to mutate, conceiving the tenuous difference, feeling a voice, the same,
in the time
