"Oh, tranquility
Penetrating the very rock,
A cicada's voice."
Matsuo Basho

I was broken, how much do I have to say?
my first taste of the air, a tornado
I wear my mind full of cracks, of strange attractors,
the chaos of the blue lives there,
some collage of potting soil and beauty
my tears are round like an explosion
my hips an extension of tenderness
I was broken beyond despair beyond repair
white birds in my smile going to far away places
in search for their shape
when nobody sees me my hands are full of laughter, of dance, of forgetting, no need to take myself too seriously

I am broken and I like to feel
my fragments caressed by
the morning air, by his sleepy hands,
or the passersby's careless looks