On your face
the shadow of a transparent wound bungles
the capricious climate of the death of a thought
which you could not carry very far.
And that was all
when I asked you some questions about life.
You started opening a beehive of kills and subcutaneous pains.
How do you spell the happiness in beliefs and starvation
to achieve the resolution or incredible?
The mistrust between the cause and effect was surfacing,
though there was plenty of solitude
between the trees and cuckoo’s calls.
A crazy spell of silence in prayers
when we were very upset about our gods.
