I miss you the most today, who are far away.

I put on a hundred skins –
cloaks into which I tuck all my bones
and place them in the streets of a city
that smells like Buenos Aires.

On that Sunday, the poet released all her birds,
or herself from them.

A hundred colorful candies fell from the sky,
like from her throat.

The hour hands stopped.

„Do you see the eyes I wear in my tattoos?“

Today it's too hard not to have,
loneliness plucks the strings
that hold the tired limbs closer to heaven.

Do you hear,
footsteps echo on their impassable pavements.

Self-portrait and nature photographer/ in love with poetry of light and words https://linktr.ee/dani_phstories