Enzo and the wall

This is the world, he told himself,
and he stood in front of a wall,
a great wall, perfect white,
in the middle of the desert,
he put his hands on him,
to feel its smoothness,
breathed deeply,
He walked just one step away,
and with your finger as a brush,
he started writing names,
to draw scribbles,
As if I were a child.
Quickly what was graphic,
it was taking life,
the names were made faces,
They laughed and cried with him,
the scribbles, landscapes,
full of new colors.
The wall was transformed,
it was divided in a thousand ways,
in thousands of parts,
looking for place around him,
walkers and roads,
trees with huge crowns,
the music of new winds,
whispers of new days,
nights full of moons,
falling in love with gentle tides.
This is my world, he told himself,
and without leaving your excitement,
with a big smile,
It was filled with the universe,
of words I did not know,
your most intimate self,
woke up in thoughts,
to make sense,
to his range of instincts,
until they touched his shoulder,
and after himself, in silence,
the infinite became tangible,
in the luminous skin,
of kind nudity a woman.