A transmutation is the metaphor
of a diathermy in the water.
I am looking at the castle that is coming down,
the first man is at my side.
Life goes on as a water snail.
Why are we here, in the summit of the scale?
Just a horizontal stairway.
Soil in thy soul, ashes in her legs.
Images of the elder asking for pity.
The woman laughing of his teeth.
Reality is not anymore a dream
for somebody in the other side of the moon,
in this second.
A hand slowly grasps the air,
whisper of the last aspiration.
The woman holds her breast with the force
of her ancestors
and milk became a star in elder's smile.
The chance is the only life for my molecules.
The smile of my atoms tells me
that we will find a shadow when the Earth
ends its fourth cicle.
But I cannot rest until there is a fourth direction
that has four directions.
The ship is about to leave.
We are late; let die the dead.
