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.