We have found
In the depths of the sea
A cave and in there the traces
Of the history of the first dagger.
Step by step are the narratives
The hand of a child in the hand of an adult
What you feel in the path
In the feet, and in what irradiates who guides.
The bravery of an idea
The power to abandon everything
And the power to grasp something
And decide not to loose or shackle.
Stroke by stroke
Melody, rhythm and harmony
In the oldest Kansas cottage
The path to home in the middle of the field.
Unreachable legions, for being a few
Like a splendid athlete among cripples
In front of a cripple who encourages his companions
They are sons of same God who assesses them.
The control of anger
The domination of thirst
The instant preceding madness
The repentance prior to confession.
Dreaming with reports
Sculpting the gratitude to Freud
Real situations like games
Such as wars and things that are written.
Etruria for ever
Abdera among the weak
The village and the iron pot
The faithful dog awaiting the return at the porch.
Some murmured tragedies – maybe they are mine –
And the future already arriving tomorrow
The beauty, the light and the order
What should be said when nobody has anything to say.