Poetry

I walk for a short while― 
talking with the moon and 
thinking about the zero― 
 
and spirit and water― standing 
my ground, I ask the earth― 
tell me, whose fear was greater than mine. 
 
If god was blind, then why 
so many planets and moons? Is that true 
that between good and bad lives a shaman? 
 
There was something 
behind the walls. A lot of noises coming― 
out, as if nobody was perfect. 
 
The realization itself was hurting. 
The day I started sweating, 
reaching the icy peaks of understanding.