Life, its losses and gains, it is
more than perfect inaccuracy, the days that count
when not expected, delay in worry
of your eyes, and of the clouds that fell
faster, that afternoon, the cycle of relationships
to open in and out
of the senses that have nothing to do with circles,
squares, rectangles, in lines
straight and parallel intersecting
hand lines;
the life that brings with it feelings and accidents,
the relentless light of prophecies that never came true
and the meetings we always knew
if they were going to give, even if you never knew
who and where, nor when. this life you take with you
the person who dreamed at dawn hesitation,
under the indecisive light it just shows
the bare walls, with wet stains
in the plaster of memory;
life made by you
dark bodies and their words
Close.
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