Memory is awakening, I told you.
When I saw you wearing it tight
To become one with it, like
A new destiny
All my days fought
With the Impossible, and you
Were standing sacred
On the ever flowing Heaven’s
That is how, they say, soul unfolds
The ancient charriot
And through irises and mountain harebells
Through white sea breezes
Of another world
Took you where the vows of those who love
and the water speaks
water like pearls, stand up high,
on mountains older than Time itself.
Of the first Eucharist
I wrote: “Poetry has always been for me the raw material of my books, the metaphysical element of my vision. I had written this in Paths of my Angel, which were pages of diaries that I have kept for a lifetime. And I had even written that “poetry is the primordial material of lost memory, or else, the treading of the soul in the abyss”. Half a century later, I mean the same thing. And more: “We are creatures incomplete, creatures, of deprivation. Our desire to transcend is deprivation, or else the pain for our incomplete self. “
From the collection of poetry “As a beautiful dead”, 2019
The first poem.