Drop of my rounded course is on the verge of flying

While the route of this day is coming to an end

It’s not yet that I learned how to be

Nor did my direction become clear to any of those small gatherings in my head

All the way, it’s escaping.

The art of living.

Not abundant I suppose as much as not easily available

Apparitions of face whose name is joy is still very clear to me

They work as an enchantment

Yet, it may be my destiny to tell how it goes while the wild leaves unsteadily shivers

It is not the extraordinary that keeps from oblivion

It’s the moment of visible action that got caught

That one insignificant moment.