In Early Somnolence
All my dreams are gone. Day delayed by the fog,
Reversed itself at this dawn over the moor where I was lying alone.
Last December, I remember, even asleep, I craved for my dreams.
For the dreams that painted my years.
Stars were fading slowly on the mourning horizon,
We inhaled that fog, now transparent and oblivious.
It was the first day of the rest of our lives.
Are we ever awake?