Suspended between three o'clock and four
with little to do and no time, anyway
I'm lost also on the winding path
between exile and welcoming,
between conversation and silence.
Balanced, with each toe in a different world
unable to slacken and sleep,
as if time froze in the middle
of a wide hurried step,
and I have been waiting
to arrive someplace,
limbs growing shaky.
I imagine a chair appearing out of nowhere
and a voice that says "this is yours"
and a long nap during which daisies grow around.