Which soul of things
dispute me?
Each slit or crack in the street
has their soul in me
the flower is I,
the mouth that speeks, the feet tied
all escapes are I,
what disputes tonight my soul?
a horn or the adventure
the cat who crosses the bridge
under the silver pond
the meat, the weaving material
in each sniff I think,
with the sweat I love,
your life deserves a dead soul
that I may dwell

Being small
without explanatory words
we were the curtain closed
the **** of my mother
and it would seem that soul
enters a woman
that turns …… when seen
like losing a coin
She inhabits all me
I am she
as decomposing meat
between us

ships, trains and horses
already vanished
how many souls will have ******
her breath
while wandering through my body
in the leaves of the trees
each
trembling with their own way
Of thinking me