White Words

White words slipped out of my mouth,

and in different trips they stayed

in different parts of the world

to heal, deceive and steal,

to embrace, covet and smile.

If those are your twisted words,

can you tell which color are they?

In the storm they looked quite different,

but when the dance starts

the colors fade

to become absent white.

When white words reach my cords

all I can bear is bare pureness

without any double meaning,

hidden meaning, hidden possesion,
hidden domination.

And with its bewitching power

I can pick up flowers

and stick them in your jacket

so you feel the beat

in its whispering scent

in these

my white words,

my white words.//

Wind (A Trip to Chiloé)

The wind made its ways through

your body and mine.

And even though it was too cold, almost

an unbearable mixture of melodies

and memories

that were frozen, and made our noses

leak,

it slipped free, and made us free

in the shade of a mistery mountain.

And there's nothing like holding hands

in a pocket

and kissing the darkness

like it never really happened.

And celebrate we're one.

The wind made its way through

that muddy path in which we were walking,

delighted after seeing all the things we longed

to see

long ago.

After all, we were among a dream

we had seen in other dreams

we hadn't really caught before.

And those dreams passed away

leaving other dusts of other miseries.

But we were finally there

there

in the muddy path

walking our life away.

And there's nothing like holding hands

in a pocket

crossing forests without pictures

and leaving our footprints

down at the sea, up in the wind

and within our brains

to remind us

we're just one.//