There was an opening in the air as clinging to the little thread of life I float along the seas and above the sky waiting for the touch of an argument that might bring me down... If down is good then up cannot be bad since it is a symbol of eternal climbing towards supreme sincerity but since I'm not there yet, the neutral liquid keeps me in a state of ice like a farewell song deeply shaking the montains in a gentle note of agony...
I write love on cold sands and as the wave comes my fear transposes a musical note added to the solemn artwork bellow the hot spot of the earth and the rumbling rebirth of chaotic order reestablishes a set of new cells for the other one's blood. The wave will not come till tomorrow but it doesn't have to hit my love to break it . Not huge but slowly advancing the fantasy of water foam forming clowdshaped figures under and over the *me in the air*. So I must be in some other world for my sea and my sky are all the same. There's atmosphere and clouds above, there's water and foam bellow. The only difference is the sunny reflection on the surface of the artificial mirror that beholds me. Such desolate pain I have never felt before... So, where are we now? In the circular tunnel of imagination where spinning round and round only to see the reflection of the *up* in the *down*. Protecting myself with a ray of tears I advance on to the other side and the wave softly blows away my love written on sand. The words did not hurt, they just transfigured into something else, an undefined mixture of tenses sent on a one-way windy journey over to the land where sky and watter are all the unavoidable union of horizons...
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