Gonzalo Rojas

Others also die like you, drop by drop, until the sea is filled.

How could I not love you, mother, if you taught me to speak your language? If I am the wind born from your rock?

But the words burn: like a sound beyond all sense, with a special brightness and even with a very special weight.

Invent a coast where you are the sea so that you may know questions and answers, and your face doesn't fall into the abyss, passenger of your smoke.

More than for the A of love, I am for the A of asthma, and I suffocate from your non-air, [...]