I
If it is a game one invents.
If I knew of the endless desert.

II
The clear, wise eyes of water, running.
The look on the other side of life.

Not how or where I want it,
nor this earth. Just an evidence,

or truth, knowing the body
is warm enough for its feeling.

III
Watching behind the wall, I see
it play over people, piled up to their silences.

It crates an impression of vastness.
It quietly opens a door.

If I am growing like earth or stone
I will not hear the sad weeping words.

IV
If it is a game one has made in childhood,
there will be no word to hide in.