There's no such thing as silence

The first

This first day begins at night,
that candlelight
magic for some, fluorescent
and toilet paper for others.

But those eyes, these incandescent eyes,
that, dark,
see invisible magnetic highways that
carry you forward,
gravitational memories strung along,
strumming dissonance ears humming
and as soon as you let go,
nothing to keep the current grounded.

Daydream lucid in glaring sunlight,
matte polluted mountain fog, but
other illumination:
that false sun smiling
like false families or teeth, between
and before, other times slipping,

And what's next? as usual,
will you drift away, forget
falling asleep inside that forearm,
next time,
reincarnated kinesthesia of another movement,
and how it will feel to dream far away from you.

Jugaad replay again,
every step forward taking me...