In dark I perceive soundless steps shifting restlessly
rustling of clothes,
gentle tapping on the window a shadow floats.
I don’t know if I was moving myself trampling sleep.
Persistent insomnia sometimes creates strange images.
Heart will toss the words in silence and I will light the blue flame in stillness.
That skimpy memory of a half-burned corpse in a smoked room haunts me.
I carry the imprint of violence in nerves, throbbing...
A riot of bright colors in bougainvillaea will wake me up in the morning.
