Tonight

Sun is red and green and yellow
and all windows are right there across the street.
Rain has stopped for a moment,
in its way down,
and things don't get to be wet.

Streets, washed, reflects stars.
There's a blue glow at the other sidewalk.
Raindrops are even blue from time to time,
as sadness
and all cold that makes outdated leaves on the trees shiver.
Every window is closed, as the eyes behind them.

A grey angel comes in.
He shakes the water on his clothes.
I blush.

I have time to count windows.

The angel turns the colorful sun off and points upwards.
Everything is spilled on the asphalt.
There's not even a single star in the sky.
He smiles.
Has his pockets full.
He's been picking up constellations for me.
Today we'll paint maps of lost skies.
Tonight.

Play

Shout.
Laugh.
Up.
Dooooown.
Up and doooooown.
One and the other side.
Around, around, around.

Run.
Run.
Laugh.

Sweet snowflakes
to share.
Colourful ice.
Soft, cold, sticky.

Instants, long as eons,
minimum as electrons.

Semi-Detached days
gorged on night
not to have dinner.

Fairy-tale sunsets
of many years ago.

Butterflies with no tomorrow.

Shout.
Laugh.

Play.

Reminding

Reminding somebody
is caressing him in the distance.
Eyes closed.
Keeping him jailed
in the wrinkled labyrinth of your mind.

Feeding him with orphan pieces of past.

Reminding somebody
is drawing him with chalk on your soul.
Letting his blurry contours
mix with your own ones.
Letting him to be, somehow, a bit of you.

Reminding somebody
without recognizing him
is having digested him completely.
Having turned his HIS into your ME.
Having kept him forever.

And, if he turns up,
(even if he ever turned up)
he would still lack something
that only you will keep, deteriorated.

Corridor

I look into this corridor full of foreign ghosts
insisting in remain tangled in every corner.
And, ¡out! ¡Out!

But they still don't want to go completely.
Something special in their blue blanket density
insists in keeping them grounded little centimeters over the floor.
As moribund helium balloons.
Something... gravity.
And, ¡out! ¡Out!

But they still don't go.

Lost

Lost.
Wandering aimlessly.
Going round and round.
Tired.

Feet, restless,
unabled to get attached to
any piece of land.

He had lost his wings
in a subway car
doors closing.

He walked.
Lost.
He snoozed at times
hidden in the narrow shadow
of a streetlight.

On his side.
As world is seen
walking on the edges.

Standing side on.
As things with two faces.
As half-light.

He piked up river glasses.
Licked and dragged pieces.
Even. Smooth. Worn.

He picked up things about to fall
and light things that floated.

He kept nobody's things.

Memory lapses.

Butterflies

She walks like this, since ever.
Shuffling.
Advancing slowly.
Very slowly.
Hurting cobbled street with deep furrows.
Shuffling.

She walked as she had learnt
after skinning her knees walking on all fours.
Each advance must be worth it.
Very slowly.
Not mistaking the direction.
Shuffling.

An ancient angel sat on the corner
staring into the distance,
having saw it all many times ago.
The tired angel looks at his feet (his own ones)
resting dirty on the cobbles.
Looks at the grey hard floor.

The gray hair angel
puts her feet, as his own ones,
on the ancient floor. On it.
He fills the furrows with one hand
and with the other one helps her walking two steps.
The third one is born, like a tingling, from the red soles.

She looks downwards. And around. And backwards.
She looks at the ancient angel.
She cries a moment with anger.
And smile an instant with relieve.
She makes three more steps testing
Understands the 'staying' of the stone
and flies away.

The angel goes back alone to his corner.
He's seen it all many times ago.
Now, sometimes, he rescues butterflies.
Other wolfs. Other dolphins.
Sometimes...