a protest against emptiness?
the failure of forgetting the beginning of touch?
an unanswered question?
the sky inside the roots of trees?
the desert inside the heart of rain?
the dreams of the heat of the earth inside cold stones?
an uninterrupted dance of absence and semantics?
the memory of photons from the moment of conception?
the steam of bodies in the quiet air?

what if love is this cosmic urgency,
emergence with myriad faces,
a protest against the liveliness of
nothingness?

on this edge I hear different
things with different ears
the rain in close deserts
the emptiness of hours rolling into
something larger than themselves
your self, my self, their selves trapped nebulae
inside the knife of time carving wise bodies
when the flood of blood gets disconnected from the heart
bodies full of tears recycle the vaults of thought
I am no other than myself frozen in a primordial space,
a shelter for the pain of those I love

as I am trying to learn as much as I can
from the self of trees, wind, of bees and birds
of the unlanguaged child I still am, from
wise men and women through the arch of time
I am well aware that we can keep each other captive
inside the machinery of make-believe that makes lonely
bodies & sunsets bearable
I can't help feeling I am just this,
a vagabond in such a deep mystery

this animal is my self
it demands care, quietness, aliveness
infused as it is with primordial light and dread
sometimes I am only ears and eyes and fingers
and legs and *** and spine, a stomach, a liver and
a heart, sweat, tension and craving, a felt unity
vital stories to be told in the forgotten language
of hope and despair, longing and refusal
there is earth in my hands, air in my eyes, fire
in my stomach, water in my skin
untranslatable whispers about you, the other-me
I am a thirsty boundary for the river of life to dream
sighs symbols rythms harmonies and virtues

the light is so tenderly intense  after the storm,
it fills the dark shapes in between my thoughts &
I feel like playing the squiggle game with your name:
one day you might be Isidor who feels the skin of the air
some days you are Yuriy the great with skyscrapper dreams
what about Luis with soft hands tomorrow?
or Tiago, the tamer of the beast of thought?
I have to mention Maksim too, for maximum of delight in your sight
oh, Alfeu for the images of the unseen passing through you quietly in your sleep, like cosmic rays
Liberio I'll call you for the day of the freedom of speech,
once you've discovered the layers of nothingness
or Noah, the new born into a fresh laughter

you intensify a subtle creature inside me
with sudden nuances of sonorous blueness, aurora greenness,
naughty yellowness
with the impatience of roots piercing the earth of my soul
this creature keeps stumbling onto the same truth that
metabolizes light tenderly for me to have a measure of my depth
suddenly the strangest of strangers is I

any two people  coming together can be a game/life changer
but without intimacy they are only like
a fish without water a bird without air
leaves without roots dreams without a dreamer
this dazzling carousel of constant stimuli
this attack of never-ending newness
that spins the world is the ******* of  void
I dissapear from thought I dissapear from heart
I am just a message an unresponded voice
a poor sign without the depth of symbol
an avoided truth an impossible commitment
there is no time there is no space for giving and receiving
the most precious substance, our deeply lonely selves
the tears are helpless, here it is, have some void
it evacuates itself in language, oh, language games
played with much innocence,  and eagerness
I contemplate the void in mesmerizing eyes voices words
taking responsibility for  illusions the hardest bit
the body knows first about the danger left behind
by a theoretical love
only by entering the void I can feel it, oh yes
the ******* of emptiness is inside me, too