Whispers of Wild Thyme

Captured by insistent thoughts,

I sit alone, surrounded by buildings,

with flickering windows of the sleepless.

The pale glow of the streetlamp

is powerless in the shadows

of the old, night poplar tree.

The wind just passes by,

causing trembles.

The sky breathes empty and clear,

finding peace in September.

Only luxuriant grasses remain,

carefree and dreamy.

And there is still just a confused, shy wild thyme,

a bit unclear

how easy it is to exist in these silences,

how easy it is to be alone, self-sufficient,

speechless on nights like this.