Mission

sea that aborts
foam on the stone
vomiting sensation
for the first foot
on the taut rope
at three hundred meters
on the heights
fear wakes up
in the middle of the step
suspended
without air of its own
but with light
in front of it
follow without seeing
the end of the thread
that stretches
between the edges
the port does not emerge
time-space
just caresses
mornings that blush!

PAR