Blank Page

The night breathes a blank page,
the sky is a sheet that pulses with breath.
The buildings remain silent, ears open,
the dark notes the silence with a thread of rain.
Every lamppost is a caterpillar of light,
that crawls along the streets, slow and meticulous.
a skin of golden air opens,
and becomes a star in the beat of the dark.
On invisible pages, shadows trace contours.
The breath draws tiny signs of wind.
The margins become doors to a tamed universe.
Every moment is an unwritten line that shines.
And when the night subsides, I listen to the echo of dawn.
The fingers tremble, ready to write a new line.
The caterpillar has finished sucking light; now it is a star that lives.
I remain there, guarding this remaining metamorphosis.