Heal the Dead

remember the times
when the two of us
the soul yerba mates
would sat at the porch
sipping tea and complaining
about the unpredictability of
the spots that the raindrops would cover

from the back of my palm
prepare you a scrambled abortion
with a little bit of euthanasia
I raise the eggs
cut the chicken
into small squares

I want to uncover
the mystery of the sunshine
that day by day
is more and more
undercovering your thoughts