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“Someone, and no matter where, collects the pieces of my shadow.”
―
―
“Someone, and no matter who, inhabits my head like it’s an empty house, he enters, he leaves, he bangs each door behind him, powerless I put up with this ruckus. Someone, and maybe it’s me, palms my most private thoughts, he crumples them, returns them to dust. Someone, and it’s much later now, slowly walks across the room and, not seeing me, stops to contemplate the havoc. Someone, and no matter where, collects the pieces of my shadow.”
―
―
“One gave oneself time, one
lost oneself, one followed
the sun, one fell asleep so often
on a bed of straw,
and now, how fresh is
the memory of wind
one might say that the rain hissed
a long silence
and it was as if in the evening
gods were born
but so small
that the birds pecked them like grain.”
―
lost oneself, one followed
the sun, one fell asleep so often
on a bed of straw,
and now, how fresh is
the memory of wind
one might say that the rain hissed
a long silence
and it was as if in the evening
gods were born
but so small
that the birds pecked them like grain.”
―
