You tell me that I am
The fresh air that enters
Through the slit of your window,
That on days of fresh rain
I am your bluish breath.
The indigo ozone that enlivens
Your languid flames.
But it happens,
That when I am the one who navigates
Clinging to the pieces of a board,
In this infertile ocean of magma,
You offer me cloudy water
Instead of clear water.
To drink for peace in my soul
I want water from waterfalls,
A prelude to calm water,
Sweet water for the wound
Of my flesh with its trauma.
I go without resistance thru the wind
With no preamble showing my face,
Flowing like a crystalline river
And I don't want cloudy water
For the thirst of my throat,
What I'm looking for is your pure,
Your clean, your clear water.
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