Inverted Skies

Uneco walks, bare feet, on inverted skies;
the blue becomes a shore where the face forgets distance.
Every step tells an odor of salt and wax,
and memory follows, like a small boat, time’s wake.
The streets are clouds that brush against with the tongue;
through the fingers of memories, they touch the skin of the present.
A bell inside awakens an old song,
and Leco lets it vibrate between the teeth of the wind.
The reversed sky breathes, slow, like an extinguished lantern,
and the memories align along the edges of the heart.
They walk together, hands empty but full of names,
and every word becomes a trace upon the day’s water.
If you listen, the past is a silent companion,
a bare step that asks for no other moon.
Leco remains on the skin, where time fastens itself,
and dawn arrives, without haste, to relight the voice.