I swore myself in

I will talk with you like a postcard
that is to say I will be open
that is to say I will send myself to you
tattooed with words, covered in stamps
printed with harmless pets
leaving only traces
of all that I could write. But I could not,
at least not openly,
in any case that which is not written
that is the word that burns in truth
which many words will not quench,
and neither will a poem that pretends
to tell the truth
the whole truth
and everything at the edges of the truth.