Perhaps it is not about
Spending the nights
Or going a few more meters
Or staying to ask
How to reach this point?
What is the next evening going to be like
What will the volcano expel at its next eruption
What does the astrologist search for on Nile River bottom.
It would have been one goal excluding others
A point from which those not included
Would not lose their capability of stirring their desire
But from which haste would lose its force.
Without succumbing to the deceit of forgiving
Or the lechery of lashing
Letting go and letting do
But passing and doing
With the marks of time on the forehead.
For a freshness in the expression
From the body considering its age
Partially softened and partially indescribable
Like a mother that did not know her children.
And so they travel resting on the road side
Where the trees learn to sleep
Where each cloud memorizes the name
Given to each child in every part of the world.
Because leaves do not force the hunt
Because clocks lie about the hours
Bacteria destroy themselves, the senate is transformed
And united can be calm and at peace about their past.
Because it could be, it is very possible
That immersed in the most tangible
Of a projecting vision
It is not about smoldering nights
Or moving forward in space
To stopping to ask
Who placed the mirror that we believe is reflecting us.