Two turtledoves swim through the desert. They meet in the center of their abysses and bury a howl. They swim. They swim. They swim. Nothing remains of their cry.

Two turtledoves swim through the desert. They bid farewell in the center of the earth and carve with their steps the path to be traversed. Hunger kills them with anguish, with the impossibility of crying. They go. From twilight to weeping, they swim. From the sea, they carefully unearth their tears.

Two turtledoves fall like rain in the desert. They dance through the air unable to embrace. Two turtledoves, like a wall, separate to make room for the abysses. They take for granted that their destiny either on earth or in the antipodes and choose the former. Two turtledoves reunite on the path, they argue and faithfully flee from each other, running towards their insides. Two turtledoves lock away in the desert their desperate cry for the other.

The desert of the turtledoves runs through their insides. It runs from the
desert like a cry.
Hidden and secluded.
In the land of silence.