On the Seashore I have come from faraway lands carrying on my shoulders nebulae that transgress the reluctance and stupor of thorns and pus. I walk to the rhythm of the horizon silencing fables that offer naked dawns. In me the frost mirrors shatter the gait that has been left hanging in yellow windows. Incense is a distant scent where it nests the childish voice of figs and broken birds. At the seashore: a dream a smile some laborious hands some lips that invite madness a song by Serrat a girl opening her wings in the face of fear some eyes inventing another country. Masks We build masks, pretend to reach the center of the root and its mysteries. We build masks, seduce death and its corsairs. We build masks, the echo of the cetaceans is suicidal on the lips. We build masks, the jade’s insurrection paints crucifixes on our temples. We build masks, hirsute stones paint dou...