(Fata Morgana, Zdenek Kopac)
I conjured in my entresueño lethargy hot day when the wind brought me back your image gifted and nomadic between flashes of light over a thousand stones scorching.
yet believe I saw in the distance, mirroring between the sands of my nostalgia as the perfect deception of the best of my abyss.
I could see in the verses of your muse, dreaming in my foggy images, burning between the illusions of my mind and searching arpeggios thousand cicadas the songs that I have promised.
Everything was written when I saw you in the mist of these arenas do not follow any illusion that it was not your storm, looking for the exit from the streets of mirrors with the wind as encouragement to all crumbled before my eyes liquid silence later in the desert.
evoked until you find yourself in the fullness of this immaculate universal silence on these feelings pilgrims between illusions of knowing myself, where the line is the slogan of your hands and mine, where your kisses are not only the hypnotic feeling that makes me to drink without feeling like I can be the face of mortal wound that invite me to be.
I've seen and know and feel when there are more than your hands that have to refresh my skin starting sun while the wind does not move, while stopping time in the vastness of the desert and I dry these pious tears dry without leaving any trace of memory. And if this
false or some, if not more than the fata morgana of my desires, will sooner or later be deciphered between the hot sand dunes and winding paths thousand of my letters and yours, even if others tell Jack ashore, I at least ... I can see you.
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