and maybe that's why...
and maybe that's why, because we're not metal
neither slown and neither wooden
maybe that's why when the Gaelic roosters
are fighting with their feathers - flatulent and beautiful-
we lift from us a globe of thoughts to the vacuum
and we support it in the palm of our hands , above, up,
and the sun is stretching toward it and they open
something else of themselves
the untold lights
and the sucked field is curving toward this globe
wanting
and the future stretched lazy his lobe
toward the present, tearing it from the future
that's why maybe we look paler
and in wide horizontal moves, of swimming,
a globe to the sky we stretch, higher and higher
toward the candid suns
until pieces of blue sky are glued to it,
and landed birds, with their shadows flying,
and the living relief of our body
becomes the relief of this globe of thoughts
