At Night

At Night

At night, the path
is narrow. The scent of moldy wood
seems to flow, under
one's feet. Hands
seize the nature of stars
remnant within our flesh, searching
the darkness. And
chests, breathe as lizards
sucking out mother earth's
warmth.

For what?

© 2015, José Eduardo Coelho

Harsh truth

Devoted to truth
Alone he went up his path
His lightness too harsh