the footsteps of love

In the luminous evenings when you go far away,
with an ageless, tiny man.
Our feet search for each other desperately,
crumpling the sheets of everyone,
running frantically on a deserted beach,
until the shells wear down into white dust
that the tiny man scatters along the paths of life.
We wake up exhausted by the rhetorical question:
Does love exists?
Our feet rewrite the answers every morning
when love walks along a crowded beach,
where people sunbathe, unaware and absent in their steps.