Under the shadows of the wall of green leafs

Lights were glowing.

The bricks of a cold old bungalow began to fly like smoke.

In spite of this her body remained the axis of my illusions.

Like the idol decorated in

the arch of her bungalow,

her fate isolated from her body

had been gathering the pearls of my eyelashes

Her white fingers always remained reluctant to touch my hair.

Whether her body was made of gold or marble.

Her inner self was like an arch of glass.