THE FRAIL GAME OF
EFFERVESCENCE
My childhood, not at all vagrant, stubborn,
Is watching me,
Like the dolls from the fairs,
Detached, but fiercely lively ―
Giving me the shivers
Like the wolves’ hunger on a wintry night.
The other day I dreamt it was talking to me
With its freshly arrogant lips
And I just wanted to touch it shyly
Admiring the arch of its mouth’s corners,
When the round sap of its lips drew back
Under its thick eyelashes
And among them,
A huge, humid eye
Was watching me wondering
Like a dragon that had just returned from the sky.

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