days seem too short
time encapsulated
magic of the forest
where each tree needle
fell to the ground
without a sound
sitting around a bonfire
listening to the crackling
of the wood sap
eyes absorbing flames
cheeks and palms
shades of hot pink
reflecting on the past days
hours and years blend
into one infinitive mass
past present and future
only fictitious concepts
piercing through space
moments ago God’s child
now just a grey nomad
well behaved adult
following written rules
the wisdom hidden
behind thick curtains
innocence dissipated
like a smoke of the fire
only distant smile remains
so fragile and deep
you would almost miss it
in a blink of an eye
