Bones

This skin that resists the ravages

of the wind have a soul behind me.

Loneliness was taken by the yellow bird at five at the morning and then I feel the cold insert in myself …

very deep inside.

Sometimes the love or the kiss or the hope of one or the other break into pieces the bones that tie me to the earth.

There are days when I feel the call of the earth claiming them, and I pray and beg for a few more hours, even if it is to sway with the wind.

The earth pulls from the magma for my remains, it knows that I must return. They orfer my bones now.

To the land from which you were born you have to return and they claim me.

The cold does not cook the bones, they make like rocks and it makes me strong, hard, but still...

sad.