Of all the healers he trusted only the one who broke into his dreams to meet with his pasts, with the sames within him that were his future. In a little while he will fall into their shadow. In front of the window of a socialist apartment building, the crown of a chestnut tree, daylight coming to an end. A modest interior, a table for one, for two. It remains a mystery how the same is simultaneously something else, what we reluctantly carry stubbornly enters us and replaces us more and more. Shamanic transformations, the wise man’s stone, conifers in bloom, a babble that is suddenly a poem foreseen in the distance, Gaya and Quil, Baba Yaga, Girl. Transformations, falls, wanderings. What is visible when the invisible is always our final determination? What is the future if we reproduce with letters, vegetative? It isn’t clear if the cawing of crows, usually three or four consecutive calls, but also tapping and snapping, represents a more complex language. But various species from the Corvidae family, as Linnaeus classified crows, can mimic the human voice. A crow that speaks poetry is the most obvious example of assigning the characteristics of a crow to man, a phenomenon called corvumorphosis in literary science.