On the bank the murmur. If you walk away, it stays there, it doesn't dare to follow you. If you go over the riverbank and go into the water, it also leaves you. His place is on the coast. His minimal music like a web covers the space, and makes it thick, furious. It is transforming the air itself. And create your own climate. From the music itself, presences spring up, invisible, that dance between the water and the earth. In colors they leave their trail, impalpable, on the sand. And the brightness at sunset is multiple.

Shine, dance, music embrace each other, its branches become more and more tangled, each time with more force, each time with more desire. The embrace becomes a knot, a knot that bleeds, that screams, that cries out. In the red embrace the tremor hits with luck and then repeats and repeats like an echo forever. Over the throbbing embrace the tangled blood is flesh, it is muscle, it is body. Body with voice, with eyes, that looks, that explores, that knows. And in the voice that knows, in the clear eyes that look at the land and the water, the timid presence blooms in feathers on his head, which do not fly, no, they only smell sweet.