Centre of the periphery, a shallow summer trap;
Quietly falling into a sacred midday nap.
In a welcoming warm atmosphere, an advent so clear;
New air approaching a sky of bright red flares.

Rasping breaths; out in surroundings everywhere,
This breathed out air, do we farewell it fair?

Though, is it not, a part of your essence,
That you walk forth and leave it in the clear?
Only when that ends, thus this begins;
(Or does it?)

Aren't weeping and regrets, and sorrows and joys;
All parts of your only essence?