I felt winter arriving under my skin
And exhale its fresh breath
Over my heart
The beat stopped
My blood turned blue
And my eyes turned into stones
I saw blackness in light
The dense thickness of blood
Spreading across my veins
Continued to turn the color of my skin
Into memory of life
I feared loosing
Said they heard a chant come out of the woods
And innumerable flowers grew
As if insects had planted them
To see a bull
Black as night
With golden eyes
Enter the village as if the moon
Had sent a messenger
Setting fire with each step
Water evaporated at its touch
People turned dead dropping among trees
Each body disappeared
And convinced it to stop
‘I will die and live
Both equally’ said the child to the bull
‘Matter is where you belong’
The Matador
Accompanied by trumpets
Gave death to the bull
Cut its ears and set them over his
And as he heard the ocean
An infinite landscape
Grew in his imagination
A gentle light was glowing through his eyes
And his body was uplifted
A cloud came close to touch the matador
Envious
But nothing could disturb him
I tried to tell him that I could not breathe
But the matador stood
I tried to tell him I was dying
Matador was still
He then looked over me and said:
‘you are not dead,
and I am not a matador.’
