When I do not find your black eyes
everything founders...

The bosoms of swollen meadows
drizzles...

It is not about the lines
it is about the capacity of silence...

Sometimes poetry bursts~~~~~~~Very often bubbles...
the bubbles of silence,~~~~~~~~~in the silence of...

2010 Chile's mining accident
It is a transcending triumph...

Behind the curtains
of death distance and desire...

A pebble falls in the clear pond.
Corrosion withers when I look into your mirror...

I walk on the street of this town
unadorned and unfashioned...

She cried for a little gingerbread
because its arm was missing...

Days are withering in vain
corroding like my chain...

Look how the moth swapped
its withered yellow wings with...

Every now and then
a poem coiled in scroll of an acumen...