The rock grows like the plant grows, <br />it feels the cold, the heat, fear, <br />cries out, shouts, laughs. <br />What can we believe, what measurement can we use, <br />from where and to where can we bring light to the shade? <br />Only the gaze, naked. <br />Only the dream, vivid. <br />To erect a house <br />in the desert, so that the wind <br />can beat it and, inside, to kiss, to bite, to believe <br />and to disbelieve, to remember, to forget, to remember again. <br />Who moans, trembles, desires, <br />implores more and more beauty, <br />enters the other as he later enters the mirror? <br />Another life that is also death, <br />quick and flashing shape of death, <br />it brings lightning, it illuminates secret sites, deep holes.<br /><br />Carlos Barbarito<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/max-ernst-and-dorothea-tanning-in-arizona/
