The neighbor of the rusty railways,
maybe trains roll on them the moment I do not look,
in the water from the skies a lambs herd is bathing,
one of them keeps the pharynx of the sun,
and spit on the roof
of the bus, as I’m waiting
to see the other times mountains
no place no time, again, for this.
The line sparing us from the sky
did not enter in a curve
larger than the ones of power pillars.
On this road I traveled only once.
I recognize the Delta bridge only.
On my left little green fences,
from them, everything’s getting smaller,
on my right, opaque trees
as you cannot see anything beyond.
in front, higher than the chairs, people
only one of them is wearing a beige hat
which, seen by the window is looking like a
giant eraser, trying hard to erase the horizon during the trip.
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