On the side of a dump truck
I place my rolled feet,
I stretch them to sharpen them,
and like a knife I stake
inside the cracks.
If I stretch a little up
can i touch the neon signs
that is in the center of the city.
In the building opposite
there is the shadow of my fingers,
now forming a butterfly
or a tree with disarmed branches.
Below, the ants
they build some train tracks
that travel from the opposite point
as far as my feet are.
They whistle when the clouds thicken
and they manage to close the sky
so that the wind does not blow away the leaves.
Cars go by around me
like space satellites
and the light that emanates
confirms a new return to the sun.
It is time to take the leap.
The body stretches and bends
under the force of wanting to dive.
First I feel the impact of the tiles
with its little flowers painted by hand,
surely he will have decorated a kitchen
or a patio.
Why have they thrown you and broke you?
Didn't they like your flowers?
I would like to know,
but before the tile speaks
their mouths break to powder.
My eyes breathe the earth and tickle.
One cloud is the second to cross my body,
keeping me in suspension for a while
As it starts to rain on me
An echo is present
when the water fingers
they try to write a song
In the ringing on my face
Shake my head
and I watch the drops fall
at my side,
going to sleep with the tiles.
A layer of earth
wraps the back of the tipper.
Are you a hero?
How weird, me too.
What a coincidence, right?
The world is full of heroes
making trips, returning home.
The earth embraces me
and when I look at my belly button
I understand why:
a new sprout is emerging,
some small roots, which wrap
my stomach began to rise.
It is the seed of the apple
what did i eat this morning
next to the tigers and the winds.
The last of the apple tree
that they wanted to devour
and I shared.
Now on the surface
rises from my body
the copy of this tree.
And when the birds try
steal one of my fruits,
they become drawings of the tiles.