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I sleep on a waterfall.
I am writing on water. For you I write with my blood and I fall asleep on a waterfall. The night is a waterfall that keeps the rhythm of your breath. You are a ball of water leaning against the fire. You are giving the fire the power to throw water on my lips. I’m thirsty and I write with water on fire. The dream has long hair and a shortcut. This winter I felt powerless. From afar you look like a candle in the wind. I am powerless before things as their ties are loose and their breath cannot replace the shadow of a long birth. The shortcut is a candle in your hair. Your hair is sleeping on the sheet of paper, over the unfinished poem.
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