Bicicletes

On the straight line bicycles without light
A satellite that starts where I lose my mind
A path made of grass
Your lips are frozen glass

I walk barefoot and think of blind images of the beaches
That I could only see under the bed
Stop with words
Now hanging from a tree

This light against winter
Just say what you think
Light against winter
A perfect Monday, bicycles without hands
I have a new, freshly painted zebra crossing
Do you want mint ice cream?

The windows seem like wet paper
So much noise that the air is missing
I have lost the compass and the north that I thought I had kept around here
Stop with words

Now hanging from a tree
This light against winter
Just say what you think
Light against winter