I sleep on a waterfall.
I am writing on water.
For you I write with my blood
and I fall asleep on a waterfall.
The night is a waterfall
that keeps the rhythm of your breath.
You are a ball of water
leaning against the fire.
You are giving the fire the power
to throw water on my lips.
I’m thirsty and I write
with water on fire.
The dream has long hair
and a shortcut.
This winter I felt powerless.
From afar you look
like a candle in the wind.
I am powerless before things
as their ties are loose
and their breath cannot replace
the shadow of a long birth.
The shortcut is a candle
in your hair. Your hair is sleeping
on the sheet of paper,
over the unfinished poem.