Before I wrote the poem

I made a tour of all the empty houses

and accidentally leaning on a tree

I lit a light in the street.

 

I am no longer a child

I wear shoes number 38,

with them I cut your way

where do you plan to go,

and moss grows on the sidewalk.

 

I like it when you are silent

to all my mischief,

because you love me

and my skilful image stacking.