When you look, I am inside. Inside the space that the window opens for you. On the other side, me. Like a green park or a long field. When you look out the window I am inside. On the other side I think. And your hair on the shoulders of the wind. And the flight. And the dreams. And the nape of dreams. My food. You bloom smile. You pick up my hands again. Yours mine, palms. From sonorous rhythms to happy songs. They tell me. They tell me. I am speaking for them. They hold me above the ground. The feet floating. The knees shaking. The dance. The dance.

Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.