A white blood cell pushes me against the wall. I did not invent myself for you.
How contrasts with the sky my skin!
My eyes are streaked from a thick fabric of small veins.
It must be because of the sun, or the wind, or smoking.
I'm fine, It's nice to feel
the caress of the rays of the sun
that in the morning they are hesitant and shy like looks,
while they touch my skin.
I expose myself to the sun, tanning me,
with feet that stir endlessly endless sand grains,
producing a light powder that
does not pose never.
I know that in the area where I am
there are no roots,
and I know too that every day is crossed by
remoras scratchy like the shark skin.
All day they drag themselves, mumbling their untiring suck.
Let that cloud run in the sky,
talking mare with crying eyes.
I'm here, in the removed earth,
stunned from the fresh smell of rain.
The sky is closed over us, and keeps us
beautiful warm, ready to bloom.
The water of the river
flows and wet my roots.
I will try not to rot.
I must not uproot
nor try to walk,
dragging my brown dress.
It is under the ground
the road that
I have to follow.