Very orthodox, I had a day
the holiest of the year
where we are sealed
and there I got lost
in the chiaroscuro labyrinth of the soul
in that shelter of nakedness with myself
where I was, I am and I still am
unorthodox
as in my dreams in a nightgown in public
be ashamed to exist
and be born again in consciousness
be bright light.
Nothing orthodox
I have one day, the most sacred of the year
where I discover that the essence is only that
-and that day can also be any of the year-
a dizzying and wavy sea of ​​light
blue and multicolored or full of mud and stones
sand in swirling storm waves
in the earth worms and litmus
starfish / fish / hunger for me
of my heart in suspense
I sewed that sea
between lightning
of fraternal vision
with the beaks of the birds and their wings
in flight over my body of water.
What did i come for? it's the same old uncertainty
and in the heat of a stove
steaming vegetables
kneading bread of warm bodies that nourish
the question keeps beating
in his column I conceive the day
and i can see
through his legs and arms
little holes of light that are threaded in its brightness
a vast fabric where I glimpse
calm and
intermittent joy.