Local time is now twelve past one birds are back to their nest again the sky is a big empty space now and women are sleeping like a river I bathed in that river before taking a flight to the border of the night.

One who crosses the border

he never returns home

but birds come home every evening time and word never come again lover who shows her back never ever will show the face even if she comes it's not her but the body.

Local time is now twelve past one

I see the whistling of the night and I touch the color dropping from the bricks of the wall of darkness color turns into a butterfly someone, from theothersideofthebordec is playing a flute aloud and river-like women has finally become a point in the geometry of darkness local time is now twelve past one.