I believe in the curious
and I ask them for the streets and for their hearts,
his women who sail in the mist
consoling the gods who lost their property,
I love the boys who walk
by the gray waist of the days that kneel in the dunes of
Saint Bernard, there is something more beautiful than being born in
a body that wakes up and then goes to bed?
the curious who enact rains under the rails
rains that wash the blond hooves of the fish
rains that touch the naked neck of jungles and beaches,
I walk among the curious
and they close their eyes between my bones,
they enter houses that have barely one hard-boiled egg per dinner,
I believe in the curious who peel poetry and leave it later
on the same smelly table where the fish sleeps
along with garlic and onion.