Why this sand in amber and repose? This stone what?a soft grind? Desert body invading the sheet where I writethe page where I’m signing the eagle, the book whereI feather myself with pleasure. From where this palecracked skin? How this sterile pollen? Desert handscovering the notebook where I initiate the tide, thetable where I suffer humiliations and make worlds, theslab on which I carve figures of habeas corpus. How longthis impure flour? Why this terrible patience? Desertgravity subjugating the segment where I trim sails anddiscordant clouds, the memory where I shiver madly,waist-deep inside the cold canal, the dark codex inwhich to acknowledge blindness.
Trazo (Derivado 1)