I upturn my eyes
and pour all of the sky out of them.
I upturn my ears
and pour all sounds out of them.
I upturn my heart
and pour all blood out of it,
all love and all hate
I pour out, every bit.
Free gust of air
pushes my soul,
an uncertain sphere
that begins to roll,
roll along my body
to the very edge
where white palms are ready
to unfold and catch.