There is, behind the flow of acts, a shortness of breath
The jurisdiction of the wait
More crooked when the evening approaches
Chewed so much that it lost its taste of clay

The wait
Empty bearing against:
The drought of loss
The barely finished  stanzas
The smooth neutrality of oblivion
The Me of ashes
The apnea
The parade of the blue memories of the past engraved on floors where to walk as if
From all of what we knew, nothing

Undoing the commotion, fussing, at bay
The resistance to dreaming could become awkward
Hardened for long, for long hardened
By the remembrance.

 December 2011