Searching for the sun I can’t avoid shadows.
I write only under half shades, like in a hammock,
my feelings at ease, my body yearning for peace.
I don’t touch half meanings, double meanings
or forever meanings.
Wherever I turn my eyes,
imaginary doors are closed.

Then I try to trim my kite’s tail,
floating between sky and earth,.
drowning or rising.
My poems are a foamy sea,
the same water goes from wave to wave.
It tastes like bitter coffee with home made sweets,
baked twice a year.

Usually I feel like the tin man searching for the land of Oz,
writing is the oil that helps me walk.