I sail on strangeness, propelled by myth,
“Is it the song last night that I breathe?”;
The dark sky now azure, hoping to spread,
and a swan called me, towards it I tread;
White, or black, no, white, but black,
but I would rather it be red, and red it was.
Then came a wind with fragrance of past,
how long it blew? Did I stand till the last?
Am I too young, or stretched was my age?
I began to think as the mirror refused my gaze;
A kite came by, and asked me to hop on,
I did, or did I? But now I fly.
Its wings were large, and the string very strong,
now there were clouds. White? But of course, red.
I saw it now, she was a fairy,
with wings of fire, and a golden face;
Did I forget breathing, or was there no air?
no time to think, as she landed over.
Buzzing around her were numbers, nine?
just when I heard the thunder pleasure, not mine;
then came the falling, the kite was gone,
I felt the droplets as weight sets on;
Closer and closer, fear and panic,
and sadness of loss came all at once.
Then came the light, through my sweaty eyes,
as I woke up, as it was already dawn.