My mind is slow, as if I walk in dream,
And breath is smooth, as if in meditation.
I’m here not to speak, but to perceive
Another – pure – kind of information.

Those winking lights, and hardly known smells,
And marks of time – so old and so impressive…
And never-ending, ever-drifting space
In every point: regressive or progressive…

I am absorbed by looking at all this,
Dissolving in a real recreation
With slow mind, as if I walk in dream,
And steady breath, though I’m in exaltation.

П.С. примерно так себя ощущала Сепрер, когда гладила звёзды руками))