Each fire had a DIFFERENT WARMTH
and at the doors, you could experience
a game of warmth.
The night emanated from planning
and nothing more provocative than waiting,
the rare taste of a stretched deadline,
when you approach the window
and the color of the day is like the paper you keep in a drawer
and the coats exude forest scents
and only with a hot cup you go through the woods
the woods of childhood
cut into pallets with their two-colored sawdust.
Every occasion served to experience the danger
and evaporate silences.
YOU ARE READING
When I close my door
PoetryI dedicate this work to all the friends who are left in the heart. To all those who love me. In When I close my door, a social interest and a renunciation for the sake of communication is explicit, the subject destroys his exterior, recomposes himse...
