I long to know
more about you and understand you.
Understand what bursts in your head
when in the morning
you silently hear a world flourishing.
I need to know why
I lose your gaze the distance
when a red sunset interrupts
vain conversations and rhetoric.


I want to know
what's inside you when you remain silent.


But the mask hides the horizon
and a precise know-how disguises questions
with beatings of silent conventionalisms.
Is there anything else? Or is the parentheses,
of shared dreams, nothing more than an echo
of who you were?


I'm looking for a way to get close
to you with no excuse but to know
who you are now that you're disappearing me.