I go up to the silence like an abandoned altar
in the middle of a jungle that doesn't exist,
from there I show my teeth in a painful smile
and therefore happy,
I hug the corners of the world devoid of corners
and they yield, without courage, their spaces made of time and lime,
they won't come my mother repeated to me when I cried terrified
looking at the bedroom window,
they will not come, he repeated, caressing my ears so that he could sleep,
of that silence cooked in the centuries of human mythology
I speak today, here, now, in this obviously incomplete prayer,
yes they will come, mother, I say, the days when no tree,
no moon, no love challenges me, but it doesn't matter,
standing at the same altar I will have earned my bread, my ration of
existence and everything else is this rain
that rises from the earth like an invincible plant
into the musical and silent night.