I am in the house of fancy dreams.
There is no sign of mine.
The house is built
On the shoulders of the giants.
Mine is cast away, it seems,
By gods or muscular science.

Maybe it's somewhere
Between matter and anti-matter.
So, I'll glide between the lines,
And pass through the solid walls,
Looking for my lost dream
Among the fiery balls.

Maybe it's lingering
Between "Being and Nothingness."
So, I will wed my essence
To the hardest substance,
To give birth to the fancy
Out of eons of barrenness.

Maybe it's fallen in a black hole.
So, I'll wait for the monster or god to explode,
And the meteors shower on the frozen Pole.
Then I'll hold the cup of my hand,
Towards heaven or hell,
Awaiting my dream to land.