Eco

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Dorme oca em eco a voz do estranho. O rio continua brusco, as vielas estreitas, as passadas apressadas. Escuto tua voz para dar-te um nome, espalhar teu rosto no meu, espelhar minha alma na tua. Jogo xadrez na absurda calma de que sou feita. Horas de ventania, emprestadas do distante que me dilacera. Particiono as dores, para que austera, me sobre um tanto de dignidade. Te escuto falar, por horas a fio. E tua voz terna me volta quando longe. Rezo para que as horas do agora se estendam ao mais escondido. E eu pergunto: falas, rezas, te entregas? Se no afã de escutar-te perdi o sentido, e me deixei carregar no colo pelo veludo macio da voz que criaste para mim. Retomo em meus braços o destino que eu mesma designo meu. E te convido para que estejas perto: (do) coração selvagem.

Imagem: Isolda, de Beardsley.

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