A Quiet Night

far away from the lights. A little dream has crossed. It is evening – The sun has seen feebleness in the river like an old man whom death has made hunched or like a friend who after being distant shyly confesses guilt wants reconciliation. It is late for writing the history of that sun which rose in the morning between the trees smiling to greet you then set early – you didn’t know you wouldn’t see it again. Most of the small things are forgotten but not those far horizons and the not knowing what was beyond.