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If there is no cure, I still want to correct a few things

and think mostly of people, and have them all alive.

I want a door opening in me that I can enter

and feel the clarity of evening and the stars beginning.

One after another, I want my mistakes returning

and to approach them on a beach like a man

for whom there is no division between one way or another.

My most faithful body, you are not in the best of shape,

far from the glitter of the river in which you once swam.

But I want good tears when I stand on the street

and, from the sky, drifts down the finest mist on my face.

Not everything is given and it should not permit sadness.

Let me

Let me keep on describing things to be sure they happened.