the zigzag of the clouds is still looking for you even today
among herbs illuminated by the sweetness of the autumn
I watch only to see
as my steps are repeated
among the tree's halo
tiptoe I climbed
the sycamore
like Zacchaeus, the tax collector,
I just wanted immortality
and while lying in the pile of bones
between light and darkness
from the armors of desperate cries
by myself I rekindled life
between the sea and the shore I sat
under the hour's clutter
head between my palms and there was no one...