Like a Child

Searching for the sun I can’t avoid shadows. I write only under half shades, like in a hammock, my feelings at ease, my body yearning for peace. I don’t touch half meanings, double meanings or forever meanings. Wherever I turn my eyes, imaginary doors are closed. Then I try to trim my kite’s tail, floating between sky and earth,. drowning or rising. My poems are a foamy sea, the same water goes from wave to wave. It tastes like bitter coffee with home made sweets, baked twice a year. Usually I feel like the tin man searching for the land of Oz, writing is the oil that helps me walk.