When you wear the skin,
a new renaissance begins. Almost
earth smiles and I thank the sky.
Miles and miles the sun
runs to sweep the dust and burns
the dry trees standing straight.
An infinite row of kisses
waiting for the lake to scream,
since the moon refuses to walk on her chest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An infinite row of kisses waiting for the lake to scream...beautiful dear poet. A fantastic poem!