A tale by Salvador Garmendia By that time, the photographers were wellknown, so they used to be barbers too. It was said that they could fly and maybe that was the reason no one saw them getting into the places. This was a little man, full of sounds, the clothes all covered with saints and hanging little mirrors,that made a happy noise when he walked. He looked like a skinny horse, the horse face and some long and yellowish teeths andthe hair that looked like syrup, long, yellowish, lying to the back. He armed his camera in the corridor and seemed more to a horse when he put the head and shoulders under the black rag. When he box opened by a side, you could look inside a black worm full of wrinkles. I, being just a boy, I was portrayed sitting on a cushion, rather kneeled, and with the hands together, praying, and my mom that was fat andfilled the whole sofa, she put a hand on my head and looked at me like if I really was a saint. I thought I was going to seem like Guido of ...

    The greatest fog surrounds my head since I put on you all my thoughts Sonet The greatest fog surrounds my head since I put on you all my thoughts lover of the blue knowledge and from the flower of love and lightness . I have jumped your wall and your hardness  and the deep grooves of the sorrows;  to learn the view of the faith of that moment,  how much passion and how much kindness around?  What blind thought challenges, my light that in love would’ve been your light, my field that in love belongs to you?  Oh!   of the fire that you lose on the road. Oh!   of that crying in agony.  Oh!   of the dark blood that always seams. IV In here, where your absence challenges the scented pulses of your absence. In here, where your presence bends the memory that groans night and day.  In here, where your absence is less mine, the yellow denies your existence. The earth beat by your vain science; In here, where my joy agonizes.  W...