There is a desert between our lips
that cannot be satiated by all the mirages of...

Between that time and this
there has been always now...

Space is the separation
from us...

The fire is everlasting in your eyes.
You inflame me...

If you handle it softly
it would stretch...

Do you remember
in cold winters...

Sunset, sunrise
an opulent pair of bloodshot cherries...

There are transparent fossils,
the fossils of voices...

I soak in the clear well of morning dues
to bespatter...

Sorrow,
soaked and swollen...

Thus said a boy ingrown and callow
to his mother...

She puts the knife on the lamb’s throat
but seeing the innocent lamb in the eyes...