acts are remote clocks
are steps in the air shouting
voices are a series of words in the hands
the pulse of the shadows
are great pains
silhouette
death in the mother's missing clothing
are my eyes on her
watching the sea and my back
alternately
are my eyelids shut up
and close the soul
increasingly difficult
the heat leaving the cold
bankruptcy and the monsters that shelter
is silence on the empty plain
voice and the echo alone
waiting until the pain
the lightning split the land and remove
blood in the mud some brightness
something alive
is that old age is not as far away
tiredness on waking
is the still air of hopelessness
or the sum of the actions that accumulate errors
is my sadness
of others that I cherish with care
remote time clocks mine.
