Through the magic of your eyes you could
from the arms of the stars.
Your eyes scrutinize the intricate patterns
they writhed with the music of light
bringing the rhythm tangled between the fingers
to spread among the sky and the mountains.
Through the magic of your eyes the trees at the end
got involved with the oneiric rituals
of birds bringing the dreams to
daily dance of life, from your open lips the breath of the hour’s
escapes when we walk under the
persistent light rain showers.
Through the magic of the sparkle that escape from
your hair still messed up after the
tempest, we could pick up sounds
who have traveled alone in the universe
of the ancient shamans told
the first lullabies.
Through the magic of your skin we
could clean the stains of blood that fell in
the streets this morning of protest.