I can be there, standing, looking at him.
People can walk before and behind me and they can look at me as if I was mad.
And I'm going on like this, here, looking at him.
It's a stone angel with a hand pointing heaven.
With the other one, as in a inattentiveness, supports a flower.
It's a stone flower. An iris. Grey.
It`s an iris that becomes a daisy, little and yellow.
A stone flower becoming a real one from time to time.
It smells. Wind makes its tiny petals shiver.
And it's grey again.
It's a grey stone angel pale as cotton.
With pouring water eyes that wet his bare feet wich barely touch the floor.
Not a stone hear his steps.
Never his shadow was seen on the grass.
And he is grey and sad again.
I can go on looking at him, each minute is a minute less.
If I could only get that daisy...
I'm stealing it for you.
For your hair.
That way you'll be my angel and you won't darken my mind with your shadow.
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