Poem 1

Those with whom,
I turned my youth into seeds
and blew them to the wind
for the saplings of dreams

Those with whom,
opening the attic of memory
I flew the pigeons of my life
over the horizon

Those with whom
I remained myself
and opened my ribs
to the currents of the sea

WHY DID THEY, SUDDENLY
jumping from the roofs,
on the wings of drunken nights,
get crashed on the culverts
and each in their own deaths,
FORGET ME?