On the table 4
The dry leaves
That they use the wall as a ramp
Taking their impulse from movement of the air
They also complete the message
The beginning of the mornings
And the end of each afternoon
For the eyes opened by desires.
The calm almost extenuating
With the sadness
Balancing its permanence
In the heart of one who understands the view
Also in the persistence
Of time and its development
As the log changes its own rhythm
Able to burn in the appropriate flame.
The orders that do not need
To be understood to be completed
Continue scratching the dimension
Of their own undecipherable battle.
So that the heart of someone
Continues beating even though
It knows that should stop sometime
Since it is not in the immediate origin
Where it perceived the near end.
And the nail inserted in the wood
Expressing its temporary permanence
Demonstrating clearly that nothing or nobody
Can survive the own existence
That the summit is found
After overcoming its origin
As when accessing to rest
Not because the body is unlimited
But for grazing its own limits.
The scattered hours
The rough carpet for rough feet
And the tragedy of the images
That still affects the absurd.