it’s only that I think of you
as a wagon
or a mule with legs that
point to the stars

or a soft language
waiting to stroke a mirror
in a swamp

everyday is a new instrument
lavishly completed
like a part-time cane

the language of night is a prosperous sheet
full of delicate assumptions

the language of night is fragile
like a warm net full of rumors

I want to give you a box of signatures
that include all my perfect moments

– Frank Lima. Patchouli