convinced of the invisible
Thinking of a mountain
with an eagle's instincts
the premonition of a demented person
waiting with certainty
the most primitive revolution is tacked together:
the most diminutive spark of an atom:
Thought.

Determined to scatter himself in imperfect sweetness
undress those present to clothe those absent
translate the Universe or lie
rummage kneeling through dark places
before a cackle or a cry
turn on the light with shadowy voice
pray, plant, pull down
from amen to adacadabra
he came today and forever
to be a poet.

I dreamt of bonfires, the sound of a river
a crone caressing my hair;
I feared dying upon waking,
but neither flames, nor blood nor time are omens of death.
And so I can write this.

Rain!
The clouds fall apart.
Another shift under the sun
to pick up the pieces.

I never believed that I needed my feet on the ground
to grow wings.

saying:
“the Name of God is a word that conjugates all the verbs at all times...write it!”
Man, in his vain intent discovered poetry.

on top of the words
between the sheets
behind the sky
without time
with patience
to true science
to love
from what you want
to shine
according to plan
we will all be.