I climb into silence like an abandoned altar
in the middle of a jungle that doesn't exist,
from there I show my teeth in a painful smile
and for that reason happy,
I embrace the corners of the world devoid of corners
and they give up, without courage, their spaces made of time and lime,
"They won't come," my mother told me when I cried in terror.
looking at the bedroom window,
"They won't come," he repeated, caressing my ears so I could sleep,
of that silence cooked in the centuries of human mythology
I speak today, here, now, in this clearly incomplete prayer,
Yes, they will come, mother, I say, the days when no tree,
No moon, no love challenges me, but it doesn't matter,
standing at the same altar I will have earned my bread, my portion of
existence and everything else is this rain
that rises from the earth like an invincible plant
into the musical and silent night.