if you want clarity,

ask the wind,
be the wind,

see the dust you collect,

and tell yourself from it.

be the wind, and see through.

if needed, be the dust.

NOT AN EASY PATH LEADS TO ME

I’M THE WORD THAT MOVES THE MOUTH
I’M THE EYE THAT MELTS INTO DEW AT THE FACE ON THE LEVEL OF A TRAIN WINDOW PASSING WATERFALLS AND CEMETERIES
I’M THE PALM THAT TREMBLES WHILE PICKING A FLOWER
I’M THE BREEZE THAT BREAKS INTO A HEAT
I’M THE CURVED MIRROR ON THE SURFACE OF A LAKE
I’M THE AIR THAT STANDS STILL
I’M THE NOTE SLIPPING FROM UNDER THE HAND OF GOD
I’M THE ROADSIDE COVERED WITH THE TRACES OF PILGRIMS
AND SHARDS OF THEIR NAMES
I’M THE FLAME MEETING WATER FOR THE FIRST TIME
I’M THE PIECE OF A SECOND IN THE WORLD’S HOUR
I’M THE SENTENCE THAT BEGINS WITH A FULL STOP
I’M A HUMAN AWAITING A HUMAN
(WHO MUST APPEAR TO THEIR OWN SELF)

i don’t know if you feel my presence
in the the first rays of dawn
or when you are staring at the sky for no reason at all
wondering, whose eyes you are looking at
or when you are staring at the ground, bent under your burden
and all of a sudden you remember to move on and take a deep breath

i don’t know if you feel my presence
in the calm night after a long year
or when you count the stripes of a tiger
while he looks at you clashing his teeth.

i don’t even know who asked me to tell you this

but i need to tell you, i’m sorry that it took me so long
i hope you will hear it in time,
i was asked to tell you: you’ll be fine.

the wind was dissecting
the twigs to the leaves

the wind and the tree were not
aware of each other
or maybe they were
more aware than i am

standing there under
the ribs of the clouds
they were whispering about
time

and a girl
who rushed by, not knowing that time is end-
less; and a man,
whose wrinkles they were trying to smooth with some hope; and a minute that lasts for-
ever and stops only once, when there’s
a need to reset the clock for a new countdown.

all they were talking about was simplicity, of not waiting for spring to come
but just knowing it will.

i’m still wearing a necklace
you gave me once,
made of that shark’s teeth
you battled with
in your dreams.

i’m still removing the thorns
of your single rose
from my hand.

as i pull them out one by one,
i look at each and i ask myself:

does it still feel like the part of me?

do you still feel like a part of me?
do you still feel?