Yet I’m light

It’s between the heart and the stomach

the pain of the awakening,

it multiplies the terrestrial gravity,

making me glued where I am,

in the cave

of my blankets.

In the room next to mine

the wind blows

from the open windows,

It slams the doors,

careful to the glasses,

it raises in flight the newspaper’s sheets.

It’s not for me

I have been sailing over a long time

like a salmon,

against the stream,

and I’ve got muscles heavy like stones.

And yet I’m light,

So that should I change room

I could fly away

with the wind

June 4, 2005