spring time
Its heart is a pile of cold snow, where rain covers the ground with powerful pillars of doubt; where the hand fell in love with a large field of fears.
Fear is a possibility, I whispered to myself.
Why are some possibilities not accessible? Or shouldn’t be?
It’s like running around that field trying to escape the storm. We are the only being straight where all the herbs bend the spine, and we receive lightning. It passes through our body, nourishes the soil that gave us life, and tirelessly extends over several diameters of earth. O earth, which receives the little ashes of our hearts. Who dreamed without moving forward.
A strange sadness embraces the souls of lovers who have only ever loved each other three times. By offering themselves, they opened secret passages; they have forgotten the usual paths that pass through the villages. At some point, one hand will hold the other, to say “Do not forget.”; but the other has already taken a shovel and hastened to fill the tunnel. Black earth, almost compact.
No, he says once that those moments weren’t gone
On clouds
That he would not forget.
December 21, 2015