Apache tears

Must bee seen

The crawling blade

That we believed to be the sea

Those bodies that were believed to feel

Untie their incredible prehistories

Like the water on dumb temple pilots

Inner excavation opens a garden of stones

They consent to silence

To the immobility of the leaves before the storm

For a wing to unfold in the light of aging

The bird in a metal flight

Comes like the rain through the observable

I am free cried the bird from love gripped

Just take what is alive

I will burn the stone

The wind mistaken wheat

Silence doesn’t disunite

His flesh in words of core aims and bends

Our intimate orchards

The line takes off

Cutting edges

Of the white hole in the gesture

No door for departure

Use only the faithful and naked Coal

I remember a lovely July

The pure echo of demolished walls

A foot, a wing in Buci

I remember my voice lost in other vocals

And Guillevic

I remember the thickness of things

The hand that holds

The blue abyss

Inks

We will go for tomorrow

Full of doubts and wheat

I wait as only shadow could

Surrounded by the sun

Look for a meaning to eclipses

Forget my decipherable shadow

Let only my stone bear down

No voice left to bend the other voices

My real world is silent

In the unexplored retread of me

Rises a metamorphic seed

The stone

And it birds weigh

There is a story that is told

Then the waves, the stunning waves

I have for her the obvious

Dead shoes

Unknown caramels

And perfumes from Edo