With my son the seconds move too fast.
With my heart I'm always walking around
in the wrong month-a year too late-a week too soon.
Why should I trust history?
Give me one good prophecy.
Let me lay where sun-sky-land become one.
Where there is no waiting- no gap.
Just the inhaling of a linear moment
where blue-green-orange-red
and my eye aren't too late.
No, just on time.
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