We are not aware of the slow movement
and the faint rustling, quickly
we walk by and maybe the trees are greeting,
maybe they are coming towards
pushed, by the way to go,
a way of inhabiting by eschewing the discomfort
without stopping in a vivid dream
to broaden projects, we do not belong
to the inspection of the body,
shelter for the states of mind
nostalgias for being.
The last weeks of the months fixing instead
the practical use of partially breaking
but with satisfaction; arranging lintels and platforms
like registers to archive
how to embellish, and whether inhabiting, the innate beauty,
the fracture of time with time being calmed down instead
the movement almost tamed
the wave’s incessant movement.
I have tried to make you My mother and My father
I have considered you as blood brothers and sisters.
Then nothing, just producing, feeding, making ourselves beautiful.
In a deep darkness
a cloth sky
(among the threads
the unsewn weft reveals
paths of stars)