They are your wax eyes
And your important hands
They are the courtyards now empty in the evening
and those sounds dispersed among the many
they are the streets at night
in which you drown your life
in which you walk between dreams and whores
soothing an old wound
are the things you said in silence
the things you still don't know how say
the traces left on a wet glass
on a late April day
are the hours marked
by shocks and shivers to the heart
are the voices kidnapped by the wind
and the stars that you cannot count
are the sounds of the sea
that changes and does not change and moves forever
like the continuous waiting
that stay or not stay
that can change

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