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■ I know what you're thinking, father
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Do not hide yourself...
it is so easy to smell the transparent poem in the breeze of your steps. I know how to find you, I know how to define you in unspoken words... you cannot just pass by my words without saying why you chose this way every time you walk in the sky and you ask me to dance in love on the music of this poem, ballad of my fingers, ballad of my soul. Old memory comes back again, and again. it cannot stay old; its age is counted backwards, towards where we were the first time and many a time in a concert of silence. We learned how to become one --each of us, both of us-- how to become more.
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