In spaces thick with long-forgotten dreams, The sunlight filters through shattered glass, Illuminating paths where thoughts collide, With every flutter from the breath of trees.

Each moment hovers like a painted still, A brushstroke upon the canvas of time, The colors blur in the gentle gust, Transforming old perceptions into art.

Nature is but a memory recalled, In the silence after a storm subsides, Soft petals scattered like youthful dreams, Adrift in the hands of cosmic winds.

• Giorgio de Chirico