Like the water that when gushing from the source is wounded by contamination.
Like the air that when it meets the smoke becomes infected and goes on its way infecting others.
Like the stone that falls into the wrong hands.
Like the bird that collides with the stone.
Like the conscience of the executioner who does not know what to talk about with his son.
Cracked like the hand that never caresses again,
like the child who has no toys, and the good friend who is left alone,
like the mother who doesn't know about her son, and like the son who forgot his mother.
So cracked are we that we seem to sink as we go out into the world,
that it seems that cracks are already sprouting from our souls;
so cracked for our hands to rise up
to remove the stone
to lift the bird
to save the caress.