The respite is shortening
like my hair in the barber shop
with the scissors of withered seasons!
I am repeating in every side
decreasing in these mirrors
like a ceaseless corona's circumference.
On my table a broken vase
is counting the fades of flowers,
petal by petal,
and there is a book
with its pages like my days,
blank, with the parallel lines
the laundries of my wounds!
I open my windows
to the reiterative walls of these mirrors:
to an old woman
who has blighted on the desiccated stem
of her window,
to a street
of all my lost opportunities to continue,
to a chilled running after unsettling butterfly,
and to an unleashed kite
of the boy
of my childhood!
To an abandoned concrete foundation of a building
under the razors of sun,
in which my dream rises day by day
in the rays of the scorching field
like an oasis of a mirage
and an insatiable recurrence of a bite
from a fruit
that evaporates in the thistle teeth
of this thirst!
Only you Liz remember my poems to such details. You encouraged me and supported me a lot. I remember most of my poems were on your favourite list and then if I deleted a few you would notice.
I miss you on the board nowadays Liz. Not only because of your support but because of the originality of your works and your genuine present, my dear friend.
Hug your angel for me.