The world seems content
to move on
without us,
How we hesitate to peek
into its veil,
As if invisible was the same
thing as naked,
And the shapes passing by
were really people.
How hard it must be for the tree
not to ask any
favors,
For the birds not to care
what we think.
And so it is for us, to forget
what we know,
Block the whispers
of raw
eternity.
