The sound of the rain. I can associate everything with the sound of the rain. I think I’ve always known it, but there comes a moment when you realize what you are not, and maybe later on, all of a sudden, you realise what you are. So you learn to rein in your desire, because even a single breath can seem challenging.
And the voices, the voices … The ones that follow you when you are alone, the ones that cut you off, undress you and brand you while you keep your silence.
The sound of the wind. I’m still able to pray over the sound of the wind. Pray for an identity, for recognition from a mirror, pray that I won’t be a burden.
And my father, he vanquished his monsters and he still looks at me lovingly even as he weeps while gazing up at the stars.
The sound of the sea. I can find it in me, the sound of the sea, sometimes it’s stor my and makes my stomach lurch, and I look at myself but I can’t find me, I look at mysel f but I don’t see me. It is indignation at wonder… and I would be ready to be amazed every day if only it weren’t so cutting.
The sound of the sky. I can feel it inside me the sound of the sky and then I know where the waves came from. I try to interpret the cat’s gaze and count finished verses into which the peotry melts. Your poetry.
And with the oudour of your embrace and by the span of your lips I find myself, your eyes become almost heaven.

My Quasicielo.