In the desert of broken mirrors the sun reflects with the splendor of thousand suns.
At night neither darkness nor moon, all the light accumulated.
In the sea of broken mirrors the ripples were cutting reflections on their way.
The sea keeps at the bottom broken and salty reflections.
In the universe of broken mirrors the space was infinite: a duplicated labyrinth of triple nebulas, dark holes and fragmented suns.
In the past of broken mirrors memoirs were distorted, incomplete, multiplied. Reflections of ourselves cut us.
In the forest of broken mirrors, the wind moved the reflections and leaves crashed like crystals: mirror dust under the path of the wind.
In the clouds of broken mirrors, pieces of the world were reflecting.
When it rained, forgotten pieces of ourselves showered us, leaving us damp.
In the sun of broken mirrors storms raise and a thousand fragments reflect the light.
Everything melts and mirrors are formed anew.
In the future of broken mirrors, reflections shine, blinding.
We confuse fragments with precious stones. It is a single light.
In the rainforest of broken mirrors sounds are reflected.
Even at night, with the moonlight, the space is filled with murmurs and green sounds.
In the wind of broken mirrors, reflections howl, become swirls and go mad.
Some winds bring with them the reflections of the desert.
In the present of broken mirrors, fragments disorient us and confuse us.
Reflections divert us. We only hear the rustle under our feet.
In the city of broken mirrors, reflections of success, wealth, failure and pain get confused.
Astounded, reflections don’t move.
In the moon of broken mirrors, the gaze of the lovers and the mad are reflected.
In new moon, the secrets of the tide don’t go back to the sea.
In the body of broken mirrors reflected words run through veins and viscera.
Every now and then, some of them escape from lips and lungs.