Leaking Wounded Spaces Poem by L.B. Temuco

When you are empty
I want to fill you up
when you are absent
I make you arrive
when you are nothing
I remember all your dualities
the opposite forces of your lips
the ecstasies of your limbs
the sadnesses of your eyes
that you could be less than nothing
that you survived the apocalypse
the disorders of thinking and sleep
that you keep lists of small sensualities
your breathing woke the sleeping leaves
changed them into faces
the spectacle of which was fleeting
like two birds passing each other
in clouds; I am sometimes prepared now
to disbelieve in distances greater than
the thinness of skin, deny the depths
of a soul; for it is the theatre of surfaces
of which I speak, the drama of appearances
that I see, the blue skin of the oceans gives way
to the dry leather of the land
thoughts and words
bones in the sand
your memory inhabits me like an echo
a voice on a misty river
your eyes silent and still
like an endless galleries of portraits
I love you because you are
in the same moment
soluble and dissolute
my blood is a string of
leaking wounded spaces