The Ever Changing

/, Blesok no. 42/The Ever Changing

The Ever Changing

The Ever Changing
The Lost One
The Foreigner
Conversations
A Fruit in the Grass

Into the life of others like a nomad face
we enter with violence, with caution
or aware of being the field where others pass by.
But we are always the foreigner:
Gestures and voices jumping to the road
and in every direction the moved forest
by the everlasting whisper of the invisible stories,
that go through us, and leave: to the fleeting touch
we call years, weeks, months.
We can’t retain anything nor anybody;
each glance is pavement of the road.
When everything remains, He will say that He was arrived.

AuthorLuis Benítez
2018-08-21T17:23:21+00:00 May 1st, 2005|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 42|0 Comments