Somewhere there's a man...

Somewhere there's a man
who sweats thought.
On his skin are drawn
the moist contours of a finer skin,
the wake of a navigation without
a vessel.

When that man thinks light,
he shines,
when he thinks death,
he becomes polished,
when he remembers somebody,
he acquires their features,
when he falls into himself he
    becomes dark like a well.

In him the colour of night
thoughts is visible,
and it's obvious that no thought
is without its night and day.
And also that there are colours
and thoughts that are not born
of day nor of night
but only when oblivion grows 
a little bigger.

The man is porous,
like an earth with more life in it,
and at times when he dreams,
he looks like a fire;
splashes of a flame that feeds
itself with flame,
writhing s of calcined woods.

In that man love can be seen,
but only by someone who meets
him and loves him.
And also in his flesh one could see
god,
but only one had stopped seeing all
the rest...