He read a poem by Quino and suddenly I felt this bond between love and invisible threads. What generates the love, which moves in and out. This direct connection to poetry, whether with words, verses. The only thing missing is the look. There is poetry in the middle of a dance, in a melody. A drawing escaped from warm hands, a painted sun in the eyes of those we love, that's poetry.
is shake your own world when restless and look, but do not say anything, still, there is no poetry without words. And everyday events, even in the desolation, boredom is a thread of poetry. A conductor of heat that keeps you alive, you soft in my ear says, "and better days will come," and hits you back to cheering for you stand up and follow, the fresh air you do not know where it comes from, is poetry. That slight breeze is a thread of love that falls on you and you holds.
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