R I P P L E S

"Maybe I am made of dreams", though the water, and wrote the story of this origin with calligraphic design through the exploding foam, "maybe the dreams have textures and colors" -
answered the constellations, music emanating from interfering motions, the reflexions and the sparks of ocean, aquamarine and salt.

For an instant - instantaneously -, in a moment - momentarily - repeating over and over - with an interminably dance:

water within water,
drops within drops,
sparks within sparks,
motion within motion,

inversions, polarizations, reflexions, non locations.

same image [different glass].

"Maybe we are all made of dreams", though the water, the wind and the sun. The wind wrote the end of all stories with precise contours around a dessert of sad, the leaves are graves that burn under an inclement sun.

Without water we are thirsty, without water we burn.

I will not procrastinate pleasure

Transition in blue and purple dreaming
oceans of water and snakes through the river
a memory of a past that is becoming
a shadow in time
a scratch in the sand
a scenario of
poor and laconic
palindromes
the sound of
a million of
clouds