Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

wet stones no one understands him as I do i hear fervid winds in the stillness of his hands no one rubbed my narrow walls as he did  we danced to death's song without any recollection of another life i claim two sighs and a large garland  but if he's never to return we'll drown this grief together  wet stones orbiting restless echoes in a drop of rain

What I Recall of Madness there were wheels, and they spun with a roar there were sparse, but crucial moments of masochism   those made me want to end the journey with a surprise there were blue skies, and lapses of memory those felt like trickles of light disappearing there were substitutes for affection but they made me round and ordinary there   was medication, but it never seemed  to be enough

blown against one another... the color of the sky in autumn