Friday, August 14, 2015

H.E.A.T.

The sun is moving the roofs,
they vibrate with the lights
Shimmer to the rhythm of the heat,
they make you believe it

Above a certain temperature
it seems possible, to some degree
Things warm up and lift up,
as if they were fata morgana

And you wish you could fly, too
spread your wings, and take off
Ride a thermal spiral up to the sky
and look down, hovering upon high

Thursday, August 13, 2015

shooting in the dark

you've seen them stars,
and the falling ones, too
you think you know them,
but you don't have a clue