I cannot identify with these objects any longer.
They are not what my past indicated them to be.
The walls will be still there
while I am gone.
They renovate them
though everything is rather what it seemed to be
except me,
who is not, and never shall be again.
But I am a halo of consciousness
that every once in a while
changes its composition
with the birds that fly over those walls,
a dancer dancing with his broom
until his broom learns how to dance,
a dreamer
kissing the mirror
until the mirror
kisses him back.
