I'll wait for you wherever you decide to go, until a gentle wind opens the world that hasn't forgotten you.

I'll be standing by the unnamed river during the peaceful afternoon, in the water where your sister saw you swimming, but not in those waters.

I'll be waiting for you on the first day at sunset since the past cannot be erased.

I'll be waiting when the inner child within you awakens.

When the lamp of darkness that seduced and is with you,
will be transformed into light.

Perhaps at that dawn, our paths will cross again and we will reunite and be one again.

One who lost his gaze
and at night
Sing in solitude.
where no one answers.


One who entered
Through the door
of the double river
That intersects.
friendship and love.
And without remorse
darkened
its crystal clear waters


One that no one remembers,
not even the trees and the nights
of the small wall of a patio,
where they arrived
the hours from another clock,
and the moon that made them fall in love
with its invisible music


One who does not want to be remembered
because he hurt
with an iron sword
Who loved him.

There is no pride, but the voice of two.
The voice that sounded in Homer on his Trojan horses.
The voice of two walking, without their hands together, in the Agora.
The voice that brings unknown scents.
The voice of a tender flower that is born in another copper leaf.
The voice that remains innocent in those who sat together in their elementary school.
The voice that becomes an autumn breeze for two, not many.
The voice you began to hear at age eleven.
The voice without perfumed disguises, the VOICE.

It was a clear night,
Without words.
They sailed a time and a sea
And found themselves in the calm that is between two raging waves.
From that day,
He wishes to know who they were.

He will return to the place where never was,
in a day without nights, he will return.

On the last day of winter,
with the white ceiling illuminating his eyes.
He will return.

In the morning when he is absent,
with the same look when they met.

When not one hear they,
When no one feels,
When no one looks at them.


With his hands of leaves and tree,
With a forgotten name,
He will come back.

In the Olam-Haba that he just knew,
on his own Olam-Haba,
They will return.

Your Voice, oh your Voice!

Where does it come from?
Is born in you, but not from you, it is before you.

It is the voice of Homer and the winged horses,
Penelope waiting in endless time.

Your voice, the voice of finding yourself in unknown scents.

Your voice, the adventure of two who sail and space become one.
The petal of a tender flower, emerging from a copper leaf.

Your navigating voice, without binnacle or forgetfulness.
The innocence of Cafe Camila that will remain forever.

Your voice, the breeze of a sea that moistens the bodies
and perhaps, in fifteen seconds they will become immortal.

To William.

Last night I thought of you, your words.

In ivory never seen as your skin. In the sweet look in your firm eyes, and your hands, and round fingers like the banks of the moon.
Last night I thought of you and you were a naked sea hugging the wind, And like any day, you were what you wanted to be. And a stream ran through us in the woods until dawn.

Last night I thought of you as a child of a world where everything was for him. And memory is indelible, even in the face of forgetting.

Last night I thought about you and without knowing it I stopped being me, and somehow I went with you, one too.