Remembering every word
in the chronicle of lived days,
the woven world crumbles
in a deserted war, somewhere
in the half worlds, in semitones.

From now on, it's the hypnosis.

The shores will go under water.
We will love her garbage,
Plastic dumps and tobacco foam.

Eternal morning will come
when we will be forgotten,
Like the oil age and the fumes
Descending in a mutable veil.