oil painting

Your wife speaks so many languages of the World That she loses you in all simple sentences She has built so many walls and fertile pits In your days of words that life wears out That you only see this tower being erected It rises to the skies of your thoughts We speak of ourselves There of our tomorrows Of our exhausted lives Of our joined hands We speak of unknown but certain languages There we will live in love with words Simple traces of our lives of frontiers And then the words will be breaths Necessary steps surely crooked Vibrating drones at the top of these stones And your wife will build columns of mystery