In the blooming period, everywhere is open.
Winds make you arrive where you do not want to go.
Sequence of the hours.
Everything starts talking: bract, awn, butterfly,
You collide with the place,
Leave tattooed and bone crackled.
Even the chickens shout. Such that these are called
The sun appears to set unexpectedly.
The earth, to widen and shrink to a moving flatness,
As if Jacob’s ladder were built sideways.
Angels roam restlessly
Anxious to deliver
Their burden. They make crossings of weird
Gravity and synaptic light.
You see words are not always accurate.
Sometimes they are prone
To excess. And mutiny. What does the body mean to say by
O sparrow, speak the bird’s O until the breath runs out
You can read your wound. Its hidden seam.