I painted a shadow
That looks like mine
Without features
Of a face
As if I am a metaphor
Searching for meaning
As if I am a body
Without flesh
Then came a chance
To form me
I painted a shadow
Of my house
That does not resemble its shadow
Walls without secrets
And longing hanging
From its ceiling
Spring was
Gray inside it
And the pine tree
Without a trunk
Above my house
And a breeze of my mother’s coffee
Filling the emptiness of the house
I painted my face
It did not look like me
My eyes were asleep
In a broken mirror
And my mouth
Was full of a call
That does not know its way to the air
My features are not mine
They are the mirror of departure
The wreckage of moments that will not return
I remembered the laundry basket
And the scent of my old shirt
Filled with a summer
That has not yet ended
I remembered a laugh
That resembled the way
My mother shakes her head
When she scolds me
As if she
Forgives me for what I never did
When I left the house
The shadow ran away
To a sky
Without my father’s star
And I
Dragged my wounds
To plant a house
On sleepless soil
I looked at the corner
Where my mother placed the prayer rug
And found nothing but dust
Arranging itself as a memory
While the wind whistles
In the kitchen
As if stirring a spoon
In a forgotten glass
Left by the absent
And moves on
I sang to my shadow
And to a shadow unlike me
Saying:
Come
Let us recreate the body
Come to me
Before I write
A true metaphor
That I come from emptiness
