It's not the edge of the precipice
nor the sun on its knees before the night,
nor the purple clouds that cross
the pupils.
It is not the sad city of sunset
nor the noise of the birds
at the precise moment of the kiss
between light and shadows
sunrise is tomorrow after
that we cross the threshold of night.
The leaves walk along the road,
behind the wind pushes the footsteps
with its translucent strength.
The soul bounces and becomes unbalanced
crashes into the heavy wall
of silence.
No more ideas fit in memory
but they enter like withering rays
by open ultraviolet ozone
Memory is the universe of being
human, unknown corners without limits.
The cold licks the skin until it bristles.
I long for the seduction of your body
It's the blue hour when I wake up
and I write the dreams that blossomed
during the night, between
hazy shadows that move
behind the window.
On the roofs they start to splash
dew drops.
I love every awakening... the city sleeps
still, like a giant dinosaur
who fell asleep on the shore
from the lake.