On the Invention of Life
From the invented sea
a stone emerges.
What was invented before this
resonates across time.
There are horses made of water
I was never able to mount
heroes made of algae
who never saved me.
Acts of Creation
The scheme of melodies that grow silent
and verses that run away from the herd
are pierced by the arrow of a symptom.
Signs broken, terrors penetrated,
a far cry from nuptial writings,
I choke on a river of doubt
and perish…the word is my only accomplice
in going insane.
Shipwreck
Rain interferes with the islands
like lying down with the lights on.
(It is raining on the island that thunders)
Lost all the signals,
the only thing left other than the mirror
is a restless old map
annotated with pain—cartography
of the invisible.
Wrinkles
Wrinkles are the lines
of the days
we have already lived.
Odes made of lava,
wrinkles are a dance
without steps,
with no formal rhythm.
These mysteries
revealed in our faces,
time by now makes
no difference to them.
Hidden
The song of my sleep
does not speak of emptiness
it fills the prayers I did not say
and sews the clothes I do not have
its notes are like the wind
silence ambiguously weeping
its letters continue unpublished
in the bottom of a faraway
belated lake.