The bird of prey crosses in solitude again
Observing and conveying in it
The impossible heaven for pedestrians.
Showing me ice in your eyes
Your skin is still so young
The desires and all these years
Your story that still continues without including me.
That can not be said by being forbidden
The fruitless ardent movement
In the entrails of a hidden land
Where in reversing all you can access to its sense.
For the intelligence with which you think
The smile that is filmed and filed
Screaming the impossible over the towers
Under birds of prey fly that are still unknown.
Everything strange in the middle of fatigue
Anterooms on anterooms
Ignoring if they will be tangible or not
Whoever comes or who you will found
When the corpses that are beside his body
Stand again like flags, each one with their own name.
Purring that doesn’t want attention
Being enough the space of a room
Moving threads without losing stitches
Devoted to play being as a companion
Without letting escape flashes through the windows.
Difficult, like when behind there aren’t images
Except for the needles inserted in your heart
The lost love, the stolen affection, the mislaid
The appointment that never existed and in which you believed
Like a child who believes that life is a joy, for a long time.
And above, someone who flies without expressing
And among us, dwelling one with injured knees
For the necessary and absolutely manual desperation
The highest and most remote scream
The broken compass and the scroll didn’t survive to the rain.