With naked feets on the dusty sand road
Dust floating around
I will arrive when you must have been there
tracks of traffic
While the view of branches in the garden stay the same
I watch you proceeding
while they would line up waiting to cross roads
continue their way
the news has already been written
you whispered that I could undress
But I'd like to arrive barefoot on the road
through the desert
impressions of your presence
Stay and feel the layer of sand heating up
Who would you ask?
