1.Ambling through the gorge, changing moods with the wind, I wait for my children’s hands.They will give me some more shards of time, shining pebbles at the bottom of my bed.There, shrimps and trout make their homes in the mud I carry along in my voyagetowards the big plunge. Fragile homes. Nothing ever is unchanged.Fishermen and children look for a cool embrace I could only give when my music flo ...
