Geral

from the middle of things a naked woman rises
I sit her soles in the white towel

in winter the poetry rise

around the walls
around the room
around your...

night fills my room and
the too many paths between me and God

I take my face...

I see her every night on the beach
lying on a tongue of sand
under a white bird...

From far away I hear your voice
Smell of your land.

Between fingers
...

I do not know where is the beginning
and
where is the end

I take empty...

and the swaying night
open a narrow window in the old wall

I stand up of me...

The forces of evil...