What did the tree learn from the earth to be able to talk with the sky?

My soul is an empty carousel at sunset.

The Truth is in the prolouge. Death to the romantic fool., the expert in solitary confinement.

And I, infinitesima­l being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, I felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind.

I got lost in the night, without the light of your eyelids, and when the night surrounded me I was born again: I was the owner of my own darkness.

Who hasn't sharpened the edge of his soul? When, just as our eyes are opened, we see hate, and just after learning to walk, we are tripped, and just for wanting to love, we are hated, and for no more than touching, we are hurt, which of us hasn't started to arm himself, to make himself sharp, somehow, like a knife, to pay back the hurt?

I'm not me but living matter fermenting and forming its own shapes in the fruitfulness of every day.