Water Traces

Time loses its traces on the rim of the glass,
silence drips that becomes memory;
every circle on the water is a vanished promise,
an unlived future, a reflection that fades.
The hand raises a sip and the water narrates absent scenes,
faces met only in dreams, streets that tremble.
Time imprints breaths in tiny splashes,
and we listen to the calm of a tomorrow that will not arrive.
When the glass remains empty, the present stays liquid,
thin circles, maps left on the bottom.
We remember what did not happen and perhaps will not be,
and the thirst remains, to look beyond the sail of water.