The dark scaffolding of non-existence.

 

How is it done on the way back?

the birds get upset

as the sky takes off its clothes during the day

and the sun is just a marble

in the afternoon corner.

I would tell you that I pass through the universe

from noon to midnight

that parachutes stop in the sky where

I look in the mirror every twilight

though the astronomer does not observe

stars appearing in the flight of your eyes.

I have poems spinning through my fingers

they go up on the keyboard

I'm afraid of watches

you call fools you know about diamonds

they don't want the dark scaffolding of non-existence.

Touch me with distance

your birds at ease

leaving their stunts hanging from a cloud

like seagulls their dexterity in the wind of the seas.