Poetry

A fast in hurry. you 
pretend that you 
were dead. 
 
The legend survives, 
putting the land’s blood 
in the grass roots. 
 
The tremors had started 
in the blue flame. A lunatic 
calls for the moon to explain. 
 
The tides were not coming? 
Watching hopelessly; 
the decline of sinkers. 
 
A watershed of humility. 
The river has left the 
body of water.