The anxiety, feverishness of mind,
has climbed the stairs,
the expectation has been left behind
with fruit on the branches.

From an aspiration with forehead on the sky,
where from ambition she makes herself a weapon
a hearts tamer.

Everything’s in everything outside
printing the verbs in the mountains of thought.

Wings come off on her bare shoulders
thinking that this way
her guardian angel will fly away.

With the body recovered from the very beginning,
from the received soul,
by the steam window
with glass eyes,

he
has no guilt
he just tells me words
and many of them I forget

before I get to write them.