suddenly the night
stir up sunrises
the crying stops in dust
look at the empty hands
display more than a thousand gestures
break the silence in bitter challenge
the cry bravely arises
there is nothing left in the throat
pure air invades its essence.
flourished and hurtful,
Moon
rebels against the dense
afternoon stubbornness,
its sorrowful colors
and the stampede of the trains
before the last silence
where doubt and certainty
confuse,
more than the first kiss
before the city
go blind
of paranoia and loneliness
with the voracity of cyclops
and the moon turns
in an eye of steel
A huge, dull eye.