A poem between my fingers... think,
he draws the words to himself,
a boomerang that caresses and returns.
He bites truths, he blinds flashes,
he is silent, imprisons in his chest.
From time to time he releases smiles,
winds that cross oceans, looks
crossing imaginary lines,
voices from the shadows,
vanishing points indicating me
directions in space.
A poem between my fingers... think,
it returns me scarlet sunsets
birds with sharp wings tearing
The horizon.
Search, seek and find
in the corners of memory,
forgotten cities, overflowing rivers
in the veins, open wounds, dreams
Unfinished, the misery that hurts
in the soul of a tear, the smile
broken of a child, empty hands...
A poem between my fingers... think.
It sticks in your eyes, it falls asleep
in your chest, it shelters with the night
cold, bathes in the overflowing rain
clouds, smile at the waning moon,
beats in the stars, multiplies
in your belly, sing in the birds,
is born every day, is transmuted
in seasons, words dance
in the brevity of an autumn, petals of
spring, winter dew, flake
of snow, burning flame, beacon that guides.
The mirror looks at me, time passes
from far.
In the waves of the forehead ships move away
in red sunsets, the seagulls
flags wave on top of the
masts.