-about a few magic evenings in august 2005- (Hot august evening The pilgrims sit musing inside their momentary residence Surrounded by the astral rustical peace They declare brave drunk ideas.) Minds flying over the forestґs sage-green roof And the orange globe laughs at their smallness while sinking lazily behind the horizon's screen Nightґs elegant ink has spilled over and thanks to the wine they set their imagination on fire And although they arenґt granted to swim beyond horizons with the sunball, (at least) they can raise just for a while -somewhere near the Wain taste the icy milk of stars; then fall back down. (And in the morning theyґre already taking a seat inside the train carrying them so far from miracles.)