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A transmutation is the metaphor

of a diathermy in the water.

I am looking at the castle that is coming down,

the first man is at my side.

Life goes on as a water snail.

Why are we here, in the summit of the scale?

Just a horizontal stairway.

Soil in thy soul, ashes in her legs.



Images of the elder asking for pity.

The woman laughing of his teeth.

Reality is not anymore a dream

for somebody in the other side of the moon,

in this second.

A hand slowly grasps the air,

whisper of the last aspiration.

The woman holds her breast with the force

of her ancestors

and milk became a star in elder's smile.



The chance is the only life for my molecules.

The smile of my atoms tells me

that we will find a shadow when the Earth

ends its fourth cicle.

But I cannot rest until there is a fourth direction

that has four directions.

The ship is about to leave.

We are late; let die the dead.