Poiesis
Miscellaneous
Perfect Light
The sun, in the circular tube,
hides the perfect light
that we do not see.
Then it rides through the sea,
turning back time
embraced by the sky.
It moves away, at a tiny point on the horizon,
escaping the night,
like scared.
He delegates to the silver circle
the need for sadness.
In a moment,
as if wanting to bite his hair
he curls up in dawn and downpour.
He repents, he sits alone and angry,
believing himself to be a victim and not an artisan.
No, he doesn't care about the pain,
nor does he care about love.
But almost certainly more than you.

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