I walk a little above the ground
In that place where birds
Are usually hit.
A little above the birds
In the place where they usually lean forward
To take flight

I fear dead weight

Because it is a scattered nest

I am slightly above what dies
On that slope where the word is like bread
A little in the palm of the hand that breaks it
And like the silence that attends my writing I do not separate


I walk lightly above what I say
And I pour blood into my words
I walk a little above the poem's transfusion

I walk humbly through the word's outskirts

A passer-by one invisible step above earth
In that place of trees with fruit and trees

Engulfed by fire
I'm a little inside what burns
Slowly dwindling and feeling thirsty
Because I walk above power to satiate whoever lives
And I squeeze my heart out for what descends on me

And drinks



Daniel Faria