If I have turned this light on unwittingly,
and so uncovered night and things gone with it,
I would give up some branches from my own tree
to realize how to summon light again, when it is dimmed.
I walk trough water and rush as fast as I can,
I know I run to an opaque sign.
All the rainbows have broken at the skin of water,
I don’t swim, but move with only familiar steps
and so leave a path behind myself.
I will never dream the same dreams again,
nor will I find new roads,
nor will I walk trough new woods and over fresh branches.
My path is eternally clean and in front of my toes,
But people from afar, think I don’t move at all.