Pray, pray
pray the last light
behind the cypresses,
when the mount frozen
teeth bounce
the sun marble.
Pray, pray
that bull in the belly
that can’t stay still.
Was it you who has taken the lake in your arms?
No, it was me when
I was 13 years old.

Was it you who broke the snail silence
in the wet morning?
No, it was me with
a stolen guitar to the biggest and most
boastful fish that never could have sung.
Just a bit more
than the big fish
we will be able to sing,
and a little less
than the master snail
we will be able to creep.