are carved solitude in the woods
a tree trunk forgot your
a blackbird warm at night dreaming of freedom we
marks a remote time
crossed by the moon walk with the sun, the pace of its rebirth
and rivers start to the horizon where they hope and resist
are the future, the worst cuts of the past that nobody
quality distinguishes land
crying tired of so much banality
each one is a wolf struggling in the snow
to reach the heights of the mountain of greed
light differs when we reach the mills
when we forget how valuable this death
and we call the real names with a mouth full of fish
are leftovers, what is missing
the cry that echoes in the wind rushes
fallen utopian / seeds only
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