I blend my breath
with the scent of almond blossoms
and of an orange
stretching out my arm
toward the smiles
of gazelles at the spring
mending what was shattered
by the bitter hours of the day
I turn toward the face of a stag
burdened by the years
by brambles thorns
and dust
and upon the wall of waiting
I sketch a pickaxe
to tear the wall of absurdity
and futility
and In the cold night
I embrace the light of the stars
and the aura of the moon
emerging from the cellar of my own being
toward a horizon ever renewed
restoring what was broken
within the mirrors of my heart
and of the mirrors my memory
