Happiness
I advance slowly Under a crushing sun My feet, heavier with each step, Tirelessly sink Into the liquid sand. And I see only fields covered with snow Only happy Sunday mornings In my fresh and splendid mountains. The old lady told me one day That happiness is in the movement In the fluidity between two stages, two states And nowhere else. In front of me, always, my childhood The air loaded with salt, carried by the wind These thousands of sparks in the water These thousands of elusive thoughts An
