Everything that's not said

The wind took her reason,
the words
that one day conveyed something, between someone
and perhaps the other one: her imagination
between the leaves of her mane, unriddling-
untying the naked knots of her throat
and in her hair, the flowers that were never sowed,
How much, not said, vanishes? But in reality lives, no?
Roots in the bottom of the skin,
it doesn't fall, it doesn't become air
like our dirt accumulating hair and sheath
and life
It becomes ephemeral, in our
movements, her peculiar gesture,
was all those letters
trembling between fragile eyes, like a cherry blossom
in this temperamental spring
and the wind, inside her bark,
sighs and takes again,
her reason.