there are stories about the time spent
with you
too weak to be noticed within
human chains
in me
there are words of wisdom
too timid
to be reflected
in the wise of blue
where the sentences of silence long to be listened to
but barely stroke the highest branches of eucalypts
as you always wished for
above us the maddened comets
are dancing incessantly
but they are much too high
to be reached
too distanced
to set alight the stars of past
memorised by the language sunken
in the histories of the unspoken
times and creatures
roving in a hazy consciousness of the world
in today’s clouds
drifting purposefully
the seabirds scream piercingly
as if they were the only mortals having a voice
but this is not so
they know the wave of a tongue
with which the stirring of the sanctified
sands and stones
and the pearly sunlight
chatter through
the cosmic shores
awakening
whenever thriving
in my bones and body
is echoing my land
dissolving in tears of skies
and my cries are the blooded flows
of my howling poems
in which I learn to speak
all over again
leaning into the light that never comes back
lost in this foreign land
my voice
endlessly seeking
prints on sand
sinks into the net of seas
primeval breakaways
spiralling time
can you hear it?