And between contacts, between hugs,
I already feel your skin
which offers me the return
to the initial heartbeat,
without light, before the world,
total, formless, chaos.
(Pedro Salinas)


___


You cannot be a poet< br />and not court the night.

You cannot be in love
and not dream on a bridge.

You cannot be desperate for love
/>and not find yourself on a bridge at night.


___


Fireworks.
Heart of darkness.< br />The newborn ocean.

Blinks of eyelashes.
Flaps of wonder.
The unsought chrysalis.

Sink and swim,
immersed in the mud.
In my empty heart,
I sit and cry.

Like when you sing
without knowing the words
and he invents a language
that only fits
in his mouth.

Elegant like any magic.
To bridge the abyss of the anchor.
Elephant like every lie.
To calm the angel of anguish.

Confused in the river of oblivion
these tears that you know.
Going to lessons goodbye
and never learn.

Imissyou.
Ikissyou.
Ikillyou.

A dense supply of shadows
for the days of sunny insecurity.
A homeless reflection
that wanders from gaze to flame.

Like the gestures that are then lost
(and therefore the world that you will never know).

Like the gestures that then yes, I forgive
(and therefore mourns the self that I will never know).

Like the gestures that we do, as a gift
(and therefore a gift of the very world that we will know, you know).

A suicidal dragonfly
hangs itself from a sinking balloon
in the sky.

The weather always does what it must:
I let it do it, I'm so tired
Like a crow covered in snow:
my way of being white.

Autumn veins.
Hints of darkness.
Colors gone to sea.

That period that goes
from the end of the dream
at the beginning of the mouth.

The discoveries of the night:
the pending bridges
between the temptation of silence
and the need for singing
(of stars).

That monster who knows
of end and need
at the beginning tucks you in

The blankets and swallows:
the pending bridges
between the devastation of silence
and the ambition of the cloak
(of stars).

Death is a series of winds
blowing in the eyes of poetry.
Life is a series of events
that actually happened in my imagination.

The fact is that I have not never
caught the fleeting moment
but I go in the opposite direction
to see what it escapes from.

I prefer the roaring moment:
the one that existence tears me apart.
Because we live in distant moments.

And he and she, always the others.
And I and love, always the beyonds.
/>
And the sad whale
and the enchanted forest
and plane tree engravings.

And these years
and all the moments
and there is a cat on the table.

The cultivation of the moment.
The sudden mornings.
The long dark brightness.

The life that cements
the sweet night that does not hear us.
The life that desertifies
our bridge that is nothing.

Gust after gust of extinction.
Getting drunk on months and cosmetics.
A long series of breakfasts under a calicanto.

The condensation
of unexpressed breaths.

The process of reconversion
of love into sighs.

"I no longer love you".
The meeting on the doorstep.
"We are no longer good together".
The flourishing of the senses.
"Go away".
Looking for each other, finding each other, loving each other.
"We have failed".
Stronger than life.
«I no longer feel anything».
The explosive joy.
«How long, how many mistakes».

«Maybe».
Yes, I want it.
/>«Yes, I want it».
Together, and yet.
«Everything is possible».
The scratch on the sun.
«Let's go and dream».
Trails of the inevitable.
«Let's continue to live in it».
The extinction of tomorrow.
«We will never end».
Finish to end.
«We will always be together ».
Goodbye forever.
«I love you».


___


As if everything were
in an eclipse of swallows
a moment before the invention
of the antidote to entropy
on the threshold of an elsewhere
of moments, of many deaths
of other lives, of horizons
despite
and thanks to all the kisses
while a crow sings
with hits and perhaps
with a squalid poem< br />given the absence of monsters
for a strike of stars
of non-blue and never-again
under gusts of nothing at all
horror hours and hours
/>plastic, projects, schedules
inevitably
gently
inside a sky on a leash:

Love dies
like a wound
which heals.