You don't live in
the moment, like the
dusk before the moon.

Survival was an
art, tremblingly, to hear
the voices of silence.

Truth was in you
not faraway from gods.
You need to open a door.

Let me create love
through pain, intense agony
to reach the tender
myths, leaving the salt.

A fawn shaped
face, inscrutable, always
chases me.