Everything we were

Of the earthquake we were, I remained as the crevice. Exposed. With that sound cracking me from inside. Although maybe it were my ribs while breathing. Of the storm we were, I remained as the drop, that became big like a pond, that nobody knew, but that was deeper and not just a reflection. Of…

Poetry

The solitude of poetry, the solitude of the years. The poetry of solitude, the years of solitude. The weight of the years like a self-denial of threads in crucifixion. The sea without owner. The vacuum of poetry, the vacuum of life. The poetry of vacuum, the life of vacuum. The weight of your dead like…