Poetry

An ocean floods
your eyes. Flares the wound
of words. There was no friend.

Across the borders,
nameless horses run to win
the race. There were no masters.

Let it go. The time,
I forget myself and start
searching the other self.

Will you walk
with me in snow? To locate
the buried hand of the butcher?

Tonight I will
become a priest to write
on the walls of love flame.