In the rich hours    
the complaint of the Elders    
took us out on Sundays  
walking along gray sidewalks.        
 
I read in the cracks of the tar    
the appearance of the plant    
the embrace of beings    
outside the silent windows.        
 
My skin was pink    
abrasions on the knees    
crusted profusely    
the dust smelled good after the downpour.        
 
This letter    
I had it in hand    
and did nothing     
in the anonymity of requests.        
 
I took some resin    
to cover the eyes of dolls    
the wind shook the tall trees of the wood    
there were frequent walks to the lake.        
 
As time goes by    
the skin wrinkles    
the senses all to their use    
essentialize the break.        
 
 
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