The space

With a rainbow ink
in my pen
I touch the horizon,
with a brush in it
I paint a picture
of possibilities,
crossing the limits
that lied with the mind
a glasshouse
condemned to think
within the boundaries
of repainted canvasses
overwritten pages.

With a rainbow ink
I become a visitor
of the encompassing surface
and then a writer
a painter
of the murky border
flooded with stories
of douleur,
unspeakable pain
but it’s only here
where the sky falls in love
day and night;

The ink ties me
with the given up place
a lighthouse
unwritten in its midst
forbidden, abandoned;
frequented though
by lovers
stars
who wanted
to write and paint
about the purview
being in the space.