He had a huge collection of images that overflowed
with holograms as a derivative species or a waste.
Meanwhile, figures in cassocks orchestrated dark songs
terribly close and familiar.
Then we continue to bark at that shaggy dog,
for smiling at the dew
when it rather laughs at him.
Clover and fern leaves remind us
of lobes, hearts,
puppy teeth minutely
sinking into everything they pass by.
Frightening entities among the moss
June moonlit nights:
baby mantises made of threads backlit,
while I walk
in a nocturnal garden with silvery
details that tremble on the water;
the air dictates a rhythm
and we drown
attracted by the lights,
or else we jump from branches where we open
beetle wings
of brown cellophane
giving off air from an old jar
with sand from a desert I will visit soon,
and a river stone drying
under the consciousness of a lichen.
The desert shows more of a horizon than a path
and I don't know how long I will see myself
at the bottom of that place.
I can see a cliff shaped
like a canine head further and further from home.
I shake the paintbrush of sleep,
I would like to put a drawing there, in the center of the cliff
or that indicates how to get back down from here.
We have incredible stories
to tell for at least thousands of years.