Today,
that the day has decided to give away with a celestial whipping
all the brilliance of her and more,
like wanting to be at hand
after so much grey;
today
that puddled the white cheekbone of the hill
you make them deep,
searching,
like a blind dowser,
the streak of melting in my pupils
to give me to drink from the sky until the intoxication;
today
that our dog moans and waits behind the inexplicable door,
that the merriment of the parrots has mocked the storm
and the muddy ship of your boots demands helmsman and course;
today
who sleep in the clothes the last words
and that uncomfortable smell of form and a minute of silence
keep holding on to the mate and the looks;
today
it seems so fashionable to be so alive,
I have hardly gone out on the sidewalk
and I have turned
cowered again,
this face into the shadows.