They only had
a different position in its letter but its spirits and targets were absolutely
like each other.
Those white winter days had dressed the floor, the mule Eva and the graceful ox, Bird,
and their families closed, step by step, my quotidian ways. I was not afraid,
because the small shits couldn’t destroy those nice rows that I used cover to
do kayak.
Sometime
after, I didn’t recognize my right ways where I’d been free. Why I’d forgotten
clean from the start?
What were the
most important things in those days? Wait the return of the flowery paths?,
Dreaming about nice hips where I would go and return again and again, bathed in
the wild currents of loved river?.
Understanding
that its clothes dyed wrestler autumn horizons mix with hot thirsty summer
would plug up, we’d slip on our foolish carelessness.
Late, too
late, we discovered that our river was fenced and its putrid waters had been
inseminated by those animals so similar.
Our steps,
now, had no compass
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