I'm on the way.
Return to ignorance,
in the wake of illusion,
to the eagle's nest, to its claws.
They are caught under a sun,
orphan of futuristic dreams,
warrior not at war, not at peace.
I have a heart in which the wind goes crazy,
in dispersion of memories,
in powder to cover fields of urns.
I'm walking on my thinking
to feel the tremor of the leaves,
and kill the seasons in action.
Living, inside every sudden.
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