We love to make a show
of that tiny kernel of truth
in our own universe

My thoughts feel 
like they flow like a river
a constant stream
towards a point

but I suspect
that the shape
of what seems to be a river
is formed by the decay 
of its surroundings 

The sun shines
and I wonder who decides
to put the shades down 

at least I wonder about something

Here are some of the books that I have standing on my bookshelves. 
I sometimes wonder if these are the ingredients that flavor my thoughts and writings. 
Or are they just part of the measuring cup?

I can see that these doors are large
and heavy
even from a distance

but it seems that you try
to intimidate the world

can you even open them
or one
yourself

You walk in front
you can give
you look forward

he walks behind 
he only takes
he looks down

both need the wall
they are close to
it's what they share 

I like to follow the shadows
they always move
and return at the same time
they cannot be held 
but they don’t hurt 
they don’t change colors
stay the same
they obey

I live in enormous buildings
from where I am standing
and barely get out

I can roam around and forget
where I have been
and where I am going

I have hundreds of rooms to visit
and only one of them 
is the one outside

I know it as well
as all the other 
I just prefer 
my reading room 
inside

I live a grey life
even when it is colorful