Sheltered under
musical thunder.
You’ve opened your coffin
to take deafening steps,
forward. Can you send a tear
back to these fields
where I remain buried?
A heart had been a conductor
with electrical cords,
while silenced communication
left me with those storms
I cannot see,
while you turn to flee
beyond these puddles,
beyond mirrors.
Entrance to a different room,
while our memories sail on
without reaching doom.
You walk inside
a glistening chamber
with drying paintings.
Are you there
to find your shadow?
Am I here
to remind myself
of something I heard,
of someone I saw?
Last light
upon wind-torn night,
when I swear your lips
were still there, pressed upon
a weathered hand.
One of engrained memories
where I remain holding.
One of those trips
through space, to reach
this mind full of dust.
You reuse
old notebooks,
writing what has been
always said, always vowed
into oceans
where bodies are rowed
to darker sceneries,
where lighthouses are stilled,
though never seen.
Modern Romanticism 