Sometimes, in the silence of the Hall, something jumps,
someone breaks some old name.
Crazy fly crosses buzzing, burning
away from the bright Web.
This is so, only; but so full of surprises.
House of ghosts without children, l powder
makes new windows, new furniture and dances.
Not, you do not know it, you I have not seen much pupils
and that is why you are filled with tears. Listen to me:
My House isn't leakage; is far always.
These stairs go up until the black.
One gets tired of uploading them and panting sleeps
without know the days, the fever, or the huge noise
which boils at the bottom.
Sometimes, in the silence of the Hall, someone born suddenly,
someone who plays in the door without a number and calling.
Not, you have not been here ever. NI, you don't come.
My Word is open, but it is that I'm almost always travel.