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.