Exploring in time, your memory
recalled the beat of those notes
that broke old harmonies
to impose a distorted rhythm of the hours.


Poetry was not worthwhile then,
life was imposed with such force that
the word was muted, astonished at the rhythm of things.
The chords resonated novelty and
the echo of your enlarged voice generated ambitious polyphonies
that evoked the re-born magic.


Time, a stable prison, just simulated
the melodies and echo of that time
reverberates in dreams and unfulfilled promises.
We are now you and I in the prelude
to an adage that senses
among whispers the word that has lost the boldness
of that rhythm, courageous and torn,
that underpinned the foundations of my works.