maybe you never saw me,
maybe no one has ever seen me so lost,
so frozen in this corner. But the wind
thought I was a stone
and wanted to shatter my body.
If only I could meet you,
who knows—if I had met you, I would know
how to make things clear with you.
But the cafés open and closed,
the streets in darkness and in light, the stations without passengers,
the neighborhoods with their people, the lights,
the phones, the corridors, and this corner—
none of them know anything about you.
And when the wind wants to destroy,
it comes looking for me at your door.
And I tell the wind again
that if I could meet you even once more,
if you were to appear, I would know
how to make things clear with you.
