JANUARY
Letters arrive in the afternoon,
Letters from countrymen and family
Letters from far away friends
Always so distant,
A lover,
the telephone bills
inside white coffres
and for an instant the traverse of time is frozen,
never knowing what they may bring
An admirer begging for a picture,
old copies of a contract,
long awaited checks,
Promises, lies, realities, illutions,
Dreams,
But nobody sends you landscapes,
scent of red flowers or little tiny fish
Although sometimes, only sometimes,
Doves fly away from the opened envelopes,
and the room is filled with crystalline water
where small brilliant planets float
and wake desires
to put a stamp on your forehead
and thrust your heart into
the nearest mailbox
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