There are words that burn,
that hurt, and itchy
helps, condemning,
not disappear.
There are words that fly,
flowing, that red,
that damage, that console,
that all belong.
There are words that sound,
calming, that shake,
caressing, kissing,
birth, flowering,
helps, that scare,
to heal, to ennoble.
There are words that barely
that fill, that crazy,
that crowd, that chain,
popping, that rage, that oxidizes
that poison, killing
that degrade. But no words
silent
silent, silent
aging, struggling
in the soul and the senses
muted. Questions
voiceless
not listed in the books. Fissures. Words
perish.
M ª Antonia Gutiérrez Huete
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