under this gray suburban sky
in constant movement poised on the tightrope of the incommensurable
we touch upon thousands of possible lives
they pass us by
they shake us like a shiver on our skin
as an unknown scent,
sometimes as a memory of good taste in our mouth
and slowly day by day all these possible lives,
as if they were nourishment to our tired soul they thrill us when we wake up under this gray sky

...