With the sun

By espacioreal | elespacioreal | 13 Sep 2023

I will be the earth
what I wrote,
the one I pointed with my finger
without knowing where,
tangled by the hangover
of life
that enters through the hole
of the window
with the sun.
My sunken hands,
buried
they will look for the stones
that they threw at us
when we were
of glass
breaking us
like the glasses in the laundry room.
Maybe in years
be the stone
of the persecuted
broken
without explanation
on the floor
where I was land.