We are speaking
about crystals now.
Those
that are speaking to god.
I
believe in nothing and everything at the same time.
My
chest a chiasm.
Its
centre a tiny black spot.
You
leave traces, breadcrums, I
follow
secretly.
The
metaphor of your existence
escapes
me.
Memories
are yellow.
I
remember things that never existed.
Maybe
this time I can stay
calm in
between dreams.
It’s
the last day of the year.
The
atmosphere charged with prayers.
I want
to scream, black lips
drink a
river of champagne.
Sit
with me and sing
the
song that brings migratory birds
back home.
back home.
