One thousand, the Arab nights, keep the narration going
one woman, how can she contain a thousand stories
or is the thread only in one of them?
like a ring in the stomach of a fish
lost by a princess, returned by the sea
once, twice, a third time for negligence
for peace of mind
one thousand times, I have faced this empty page
where the silence was louder than my thoughts
is it important, then, this essence
this insanity to write, to be, to negate?
maybe it is, a millennium
like those stars bursting on your skin
whenever I lean in to give you a soft kiss
on the shoulders, those that carried me
into the millennium
this or that of poem, song, breakage.