precious things

When I was a boy
I collected snail voices,
smells of rain and sparkles
of starfish...

As a child, I flew on wings
of caterpillars
run in the rain and listen
the sea in snail shells...

almost adult boy
middle-aged kid
who collected the voices
of the stars, the meshes of giraffes
and imperfect flowers:

anthuriums
chrysanthemums
sunflowers
and hummingbird feathers
cloud foam
ice stones falling from the sky...

inconsistencies
improbabilities
uncertainties

collected the things that others
left unfinished...
colored pencils
old papers
tea vapors...

I collected things I couldn't
keep, things I don't know
where they are...

collected names of fictional cities
photographs of places that
do not exist,
collected souls of beings
unicellular microscopes.

pyrotechnics

the landscape burned
at the bottom of the eyes
the books all had words
the books, all, were literal
all the books talked about love

the landscape,
burned in the background,
in the eyes
the landscape,
burned, in the background,
in the eyes
i used to think
who would write about everything
and the landscape burns
at the bottom of the eyes...


PAR