I touch the end with the eye's fingers,
but I feel only the shout of the cold
burning my retina,
I'm blind and I'm back in my shell,
I want again the silence and
my pink solitudes...

My pen is wet, too much seconds drip,
the time rains on the mind port,
I touch the chance to be eternal,
but I don't hope to sleep
into the bed of the mute hard night.

I'm like a rock waiting for waves
to dig for a gray heart,
the water of desires and needs,
waiting for a pure touch
of the wings flying from infinity...