but then a line of yours fades in my memory.
I go out to hug you before the bee devours you,
before
to suppose you
mad with love
under the rain,
in the meantime
I bone you
word to word
the freckled tar that bit your hours,
I loved you under the unimaginable contradictions of silence,
I touched your shadow with a borrowed umbrella
I climbed your back with the sadness of the broken pots,
I loved you from the old winter warehouse
until the corollary foam of dawn on the window
you loved me in the odd numbers and in the horses
and in the gray interstices of my tiles
in the repatriated melancholy with which cats lie down under relief.
but then a line of yours fell asleep on my mouth.