to the bewilderment of the eternal omnipotent merchant,
or perhaps, I’ll wander through the sterile space,
felling amusement on the pleasure of the emptiness.
The dragonflies of the dawn will proclaim, restless:
"There is no more sunrises".
I am dead;
and I perceive my watch stopped,
my only memories, the flood, and your voice
Totally empty of malice
and stripped of resentment;
today I am a flower"