Shrunken Poem by L.B. Temuco

I cannot sleep
I am shrunken too
hung from these beaten branches of dreams
and from the hunger of hours missed
I wonder if I will still recognise her
in her dark clothes
if I will still hear her soft feet

In the same darkness
just a few floors below
I get smaller too
I dehydrate
I evaporate
I hope Pablo
that when I awaken
my soul too will feel wet again

I am talking to her
through glistening glasses
of new wine from France
watching the light arrive
on her face
her eyes first luminous
shaded in beauty
then opaque with doubt
and mystery

I wonder at the gift of warmth
in her delicate fingers
I wonder
how she measures life
I wonder
how she throws away
the good things she finds