We can appreciate the energy in art
and feel strong in the transfusion,
but then time keeps dripping,
the curse of the beauty drinker.
Surrogate life,
virtual, safe, mediocre.
Looking in the usual wrong places,
we´ll never get to know
what we want.
I am able to believe anything,
to deceive myself once more.
Do we need a miracle?
In the meantime,
silently,
the mysterious order of truth
moves forward.