and the world did not change.
I wake up at that hour
the dustmen turn over their garbage boxes
with noise,
turn the water on, wash my hands
with the same movements,
prepare the tea,
pour hot water, put the cup to my mouth with the same gestures.

When flying, the birds are very little.
When hearing the birds they are very many.
The tap turned on, the rain over the window,
Some water over my face, the drops are gliding on the mirror
and disappear as my cactus came to blossom
and then died. Everything is disappearing all the time.

Two birds fly together
Much too close one from another,
Much too close to me.
Their flight and the care for their babies,
To feed them, that’s what they know better to do.

I have another morning
and some worries
wanting to get out in the street.