Sometimes it is better to entrust the thoughts to the wind,
let them bring them out and sow in the land kissed by the sea.
Thoughts that may not ever bloom,
whipped by impetuous Wishes,
the morbidity of fear.
I went back to braiding her hair,
to lose in the drawings of incense and pink sunset sky.
I returned to drum with your fingers over invisible boundaries,
to spy over the curtain,
to scratch the night with silver nails.
And I go beyond the maze of memory,
over the pins that stealthily fragrant caress the palms ...
let the fuzzy contours mark footsteps on the sand,
fingerprints of an applicant who already is not there anymore.
I throw between the waves of these small comets hopes and illusions,
soft fire that appear stars,
stars too bright for this world.
I Dream to live one day at the beach
and to see them resurgence from the realm of miracles.
Maybe then I will be ready to grow them in my heart,
maybe then there will be someone who will listen to my tales.
I have yet to tell many tales ... true,
tales that they know the wind and sea, fog and moons.