Pen and Ink

Canvas, ribbon, starting over again.
Pencil, ink, and stealing from the landscape.
And the pleasure of rediscovering
the limbo of a time that slips away.
Book, cloud, that's my rest.
Tree, fountain, every time I wake up.
To be a sleeper. To camouflage in the foam of a whim.
For complete innocence,
to wander in the cauldrons of dreams.
As the days go by, they are a river.
Now I want to feel, to walk.
Now I want to paint, to perceive
the color of that flower that will wither.
I paint, green landscapes of desolate beauty,
I live the ephemeral and its value.
I drink, I gulp down the waste of my life,
I gather myself in the temperance of the truce that gives me
the anesthesia of memory.
As the days go by, they are a river,
now I want to feel, to walk,
now I want to paint, to perceive
the fleeting summer that is already leaving.
Pencil, ink, and the pleasure of rediscovering.