Rain, unmixed with oblivion,
Filled my eye.
I walked
Upon images of God in the water
...
Beneath the nocturnal drums
Made from the skin of insomnia
I hear my little terrors:
Ten fingers of silence
...
When I tread, a tired wagon
On the footprints of the rails,
I wonder how do I lose myself
Step after step,
...
Through the glance with its aura of sadness
I see nights
That search what I've never lost
Days
...
Through the glance with its aura of sadness
I see nights
That search what I've never lost
Days
...
In the middle of a life
That is singular, yet many,
Whom do I hear
When I hear myself
...
In the middle of a life
That is singular, yet many,
Whom do I hear
When I hear myself
...