On the bay she walked before her shadow
Overcoming my smile touching its texture
Unfurling the muslin of my pleasure,
meticulously
She even walked in the front of my passion for death
Till I faint for a day and eternity more
To read the last truth in the last pages of any newspaper
Where the memoirs of beloved are manifested as grief
For the premature death of the progeny,
The “I”
Composed by myriads of souls, and
Bones and flesh dust and the sparks of light
Alas, she runs off
We run off
I run off the will for hatred
Now and just that
I love and I extinguish
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