Damp mattresses

and the beds stacked

of hostels without a soul

and no fan,

gasping to get

a thread of air,

that word

that gives you meaning.

Awake forever

among strangers.

The silence.

The rain that calms

hastily.

Patience.

Write.

Hear

What it is not said.

Search the night

stir in the heart.

Not surrender.

Take off the body

wet mattress

and gasp.

A little air

a hint of beauty.

Respect

the holy rain.

Expect.

Patience

and disappointment.

The thick air

the insects,

the strangers.

The joy

he watches you sitting

at the foot of the bed.

The rhymes and the beauty

They hide

in patience.

You know:

there is only one way

to be a poet.