You believe so much in the thirst: in life . . . In the invisible. You sleep facing the east. You purify yourself in danger. In books you denounce time as if it were a stuffed verb.

In the wood an oak follows you. Light names you. When you choose the course of pain someone gives you a sip of water.

You wish: you always expect to be mistaken. You assume the tyranny of the eye called voyage and sometimes you attain the cure of the cold you feel with a face.

You know of a paradise that will never be memory.

You attend a masquerade of survival even though a far-away and voracious equator attracts your flight. Thus you achieve persistence.

Your words fall like handfuls of earth on a naked body.

Here the instant begins. Who claims? Who answers in the blood? Who discovers his or her incandescent shadow?

Let the cry always stop the wound!

Let the language be enough not to die!

Translation: 2008, Nicolás Suescún