The punishment of memory
around my days and tongue.
Once a voice told me I was a child.
Nothing hapens in the dark mountain
but my lonelyness arrival.
No forget is with myself, no lover, no woman
no cry in the perfection side of sorrow.
Walking along the river of images
the flow of tears called me wind.
But I’m not a man. I am a camera.
My time is one desert speech.