131 My words to you become the plaster cast To hold the fractured skeleton of streets, The ribs of slowly decomposing things And to preserve each form in frozen white. The stupor of my punctuation marks Slows down the dissolution of the days And ties again the broken joints of rain That falls to crash against the arid ground. The tranquil mask upon decay and pain, My words to you fill up the gaps between The smashed and separated stairs of weeks, The fingers of the rain, which fell to crash.


Confined Verse
Collected Poems