A hallway stretched by memory,
lined with watercolor intentions.

People drift through — silhouettes of maybe,
each carrying a fraction of tomorrow.

Light rehearses geometry:
yellow angles meet turquoise sighs.
The ceiling blushes in slow motion.

Conversation dissolves into footsteps,
footsteps dissolve into line.

Hypothesis: direction is an illusion.
Counter-hypothesis: so is arrival.

Somewhere near the vanishing point
DADA hangs a small sign:
“You are already elsewhere.”