Comes a time when blindness is a skill
Going up when you are old makes a creaking sound
swooning over shiny objects, misconceiving questions blinded by reflection, another meeting falters since bullet points have been denounced, foolish puffins flailing at the air
Bewitching brings its own magic, so says Saramago
Into the same lightness set you free
Kissing me delirious, proof we are still young
This home that loved us all my family, friends and me still lives on that desert hill.