In the morning, the rain wavers its crystal tiaras on the marbles. The statues are dressed with pearls and clouds, the transparent powders of the sidewalk caress your steps in this corridor of water and insomnia, the sounds distill origamis of salt, tears and moon, the exiled streets are waiting for your return, the city breathes under the opalescent curtain and the waiting takes the colour of the windows, of the shadows, of your name.