echoes of thought

These echoes of thought—

we carry them gently,

as if they might shatter.

Formless, once

a heap of bones, now nothing

but a handful of dust.

half broken stance

by our own inaction, the stillness

will bury us in.

somewhere else,

in the depths of memory,

a bird flutters her wings,

off to where the sun still sets.

Somewhere else,

in the depths of memory,

nothing ever went wrong,

and we too have a home

we dream of going back to.

Gonzalo Irala Amarilla holds a BA in English Studies from the University of Seville. His hobbies include literature and science-fiction.