Guess my thoughts, I say,
to myself (because there is no one else I could ask)
and I answer:
It would feel a little strange to be a Rumanian stray dog
but I could do worse,
chasing my own shadow as long as there is a sun in the sky.
It once has been a cinema and now it smells of pigeon muck and bent metal.
When I was young, we went to the place and bought popcorn where now all kind of waste is dropped.
Inside, derelictions dwells on broken glass.
Outside, rose hips take back the staircases.
I never cared to take a look. But one day, on my way to work,
I peeped through the shattered window. And there,
was a small, dusted world, waiting to be kissed awake. (blink, blink and it may be gone)