For my son

The Sphinx says his secret is seduction and intimidation.

But writing is a rebellion against photographic-like precision.

And waiting is the human

the oldest form of pastime.

In March, when Venus and Jupiter are inseparable

I had longed for you to come earlier.

The night when I couldn't sleep was a Cambrian longer than the night when I slept.

Every time I turn over, the trilobite sheds its shell.

What a long night, every minute is long.

For this, I had offered a snail's eye.

I long for you, again, to come on the day of the appointment.

Not too early, not too late.

I will try to love you, at three o'clock in the morning.

With silvery white snow, and

a masked weary look.