I have hope
to go on living halfway.
Halfway through
disaster and a mind awake.
Anchored in the future
without streets,
with no mirages,
in this rarefied.
Present that still
remembers how, for example,
yesterday, you dressed in tenderness, my dream of poetry.


I have hope that my dreams
of being, will not
smear my cravings for tomorrow in grey.
May your voice
resurrect the memory of kisses,
and may the time of silence tie me
to the one who loves me.
I have the hope of wanting to
live halfway, that every morning
I will be tormented and still,
embrace the effort to move forward.


Hope of living, as if that were enough.