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I press my lips against the ear of vocablesand whisper:“God is our necessary creation.”They inhabit quagmires of panics.They are ready to portray my terrors.I am not waiting for the daywhen my name will floatin the pages of a hagiography.I don’t know which gospel rulesthe impurities of my art.I exude excrescences,Doubts, luminosities.And...all I know how to do is startle words.DANIELA GALDINO288WOMAN DAWNEDI woke up with an enormous suninside meem-braising vital organsrays traveled in my veinsthoughts of mud bubbledin the groundwater of memorythe sun took charge of everythingexpanding forgotten feloniesthere arose an ancient baobabin the uninhabited yard of my selfthe thrill of this birthnourished a leafy spectacle:shadow on the back of the dayvertigo in the butterfly.