As if walking through a large unknown forest, the Light alternates with the Dark influencing our sensations. We meet the ghosts of the night with their dark colors but also the brightest sunrises. The impression of feeling lost and touching the sky with a finger forges our spirit to the ability to adapt to them.






The Lights of the Highway

Images as scraps of movie
return insistently to the evening
before they melts into memory.
They recall the dry leaves and the morning fog,
clogged highways and sad faces at street corners
clinging to traffic lights like withered fruit.
Dark ladies with glowing eyes
they beg for my hand.
Cheap flights and dark alleys are on sale.
The afternoon sun is red with shame.

The prairies are so far from this city—
slow to arrive like all the good intentions—
like the green of too authoritarian traffic lights.

Only a smile hung today
on the motorway bridge
and a hand greater than this city.
It chased away the fog and the pain,
then the darkness was no longer so black
and the lighthouses looked like candles—
whispered prayers in the shadows of a church.
They asked to forget what they saw today
and that the sun would return to bring a new tomorrow.