XXII

The skies grow used to surrendering
lifelessly to the asphalt.
The light moves in search of bodies.
Its mechanism is sweet and it repeats,
like your heart
when it preferred me.

An ownerless shadow,
something that is not night
but that walks out of night's womb,
upon returning it draws near, it becomes confused,
it passes slowly until it is lost.

I watch my loneliness
return without me, naked,
from where I carry it,
in the umbra defeat of its steps,
from doorway to doorway, murmur of no one.