When will you speak again?

Our words are the children of many people.

They are sown, are born like babies

take root, are nourished with blood.

Like the pines

they retain the wind’s imprint

after the wind is gone, no longer there

same with the words

they retain the imprint of man

after the man is gone, no longer there.

Perhaps the stars try to speak

that one night they walked on your nakedness

the Swan, the Archer, the Scorpion

perhaps those.

But where will you be at the moment

when the light will come here, to this theater?