Opaline lens smiling
in the glitter of your eyes
static words, sorrowful
for the little you sang
to your sun hidden
behind the tree trunk
deadline that demanded
attention, your decision and
you kept shutting your blinds since
sunlight always revealed
secrets the white bed-sheets cover
like two grains of laughter
you hid in your palm
little happiness and
aimless, dry talk

and you said —

next time I’ll become a philosopher
to solve the problems of the world