And the wind knocks to announce a revival.
Run, tells me the soul,
but the heart rate slows down, like a butterfly back
its colors and laying on my floor black.
And I sing for those I hurt,
hand for those who did not understand my love.
I put my hat and gloves and
overlooking the balcony. So
in their everyday lives embroidery reigns
a poem the colors of the silver spider web
more persistent in my memory. There is a breath
reveals the presence of the silence in his being.
Franca
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