The color dazzles my senses,
they’re dense for the vague morning dim light
Impudent, I keep an eye on me.
I lose one’s way on the breezy look of this silent wave
You are enough for me.
And I become alone
cheerful to look what strikes me,
long a street that gazes me mine...
Thirst. The memory is thirst.
Of spicy smell, of wind that moves the palms, of absolute colors that paint.