Poem – The Fickle One

My eyes went away from me

Following a dark girl who went by.
She was made of black motherofpearl

Made of darkpurple grapes,

And she lashed my blood

With her tail of fire.
After them all I go.
A pale blonde went by

Like a golden plant

Swaying her gifts.

And my mouth went

Like a wave

Discharging on her breast

Lightningbolts of blood.
After them all I go.
But to you, without my moving,

Without seeing you, distant you,

Go my blood and my kisses,

My dark one and my fair one,

My broad one and my slender one,

My ugly one, my beauty,

Made of all the gold

And of all the silver,

Made of all the wheat

And of all the earth,

Made of all the water

Of sea waves,

Made for my arms

Made for my kisses,

Made for my soul. 

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Poem – Here I Love You

Here I love you. 
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.

The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.

Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.
The snow unfurls in dancing figures.

A silver gull slips down from the west.

Sometimes a sail. High, high stars. 

Oh the black cross of a ship.


Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.

Far away the sea sounds and resounds.

This is a port.
Here I love you.

Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.

I love you still among these cold things.

Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels

that cross the sea towards no arrival.

I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.

My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.

I love what I do not have. You are so far.

My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.

But night comes and starts to sing to me.
The moon turns its clockwork dream.

The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.

And as I love you, the pines in the wind

want to sing your name with their leaves of wire. 

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Poem – Sonata

Neither the heart cut by a piece of glass
in a wasteland of thorns 

nor the atrocious waters seen in the corners

of certain houses, waters like eyelids and eyes

can capture your waist in my hands

when my heart lifts its oaks

towards your unbreakable thread of snow.
Nocturnal sugar, spirit 

of the crowns,


human blood, your kisses

send into exile

and a stroke of water, with remnants of the sea,

neats on the silences that wait for you

surrounding the worn chairs, wearing out doors.
Nights with bright spindles,

divided, material, nothing

but voice, nothing but

naked every day.
Over your breasts of motionless current,

over your legs of firmness and water,

over the permanence and the pride

of your naked hair

I want to be, my love, now that the tears are


into the raucous baskets where they accumulate,

I want to be, my love, alone with a syllable

of mangled silver, alone with a tip 

of your breast of snow. 

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Poem – Clenched Soul

We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand

while the blue night dropped on the world.
I have seen from my window

the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.
Sometimes a piece of sun

burned like a coin in my hand.
I remembered you with my soul clenched

in that sadness of mine that you know.
Where were you then?

Who else was there?

Saying what?

Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly

when I am sad and feel you are far away?
The book fell that always closed at twilight

and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.
Always, always you recede through the evenings

toward the twilight erasing statues. 

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Poem – And Because Love Battles

And because love battles
not only in its burning agricultures

but also in the mouth of men and women,

I will finish off by taking the path away

to those who between my chest and your fragrance

want to interpose their obscure plant.
About me, nothing worse

they will tell you, my love,

than what I told you.
I lived in the prairies

before I got to know you

and I did not wait love but I was

laying in wait for and I jumped on the rose.
What more can they tell you?

I am neither good nor bad but a man,

and they will then associate the danger

of my life, which you know

and which with your passion you shared.
And good, this danger

is danger of love, of complete love

for all life,

for all lives,

and if this love brings us

the death and the prisons,

I am sure that your big eyes,

as when I kiss them,

will then close with pride,

into double pride, love,

with your pride and my pride.
But to my ears they will come before

to wear down the tour

of the sweet and hard love which binds us,

and they will say: “The one

you love,

is not a woman for you,

Why do you love her? I think

you could find one more beautiful,

more serious, more deep,

more other, you understand me, look how she’s light,

and what a head she has,

and look at how she dresses,

and etcetera and etcetera”.
And I in these lines say:

Like this I want you, love,

love, Like this I love you,

as you dress

and how your hair lifts up

and how your mouth smiles,

light as the water

of the spring upon the pure stones,

Like this I love you, beloved.
To bread I do not ask to teach me

but only not to lack during every day of life.

I don’t know anything about light, from where

it comes nor where it goes,

I only want the light to light up,

I do not ask to the night


I wait for it and it envelops me,

And so you, bread and light

And shadow are.
You came to my life

with what you were bringing,


of light and bread and shadow I expected you,

and Like this I need you,

Like this I love you,

and to those who want to hear tomorrow

that which I will not tell them, let them read it here,

and let them back off today because it is early

for these arguments.
Tomorrow we will only give them

a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf

which will fall on the earth

like if it had been made by our lips

like a kiss which falls

from our invincible heights

to show the fire and the tenderness

of a true love. 

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Poem – When Great Trees Fall

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,

lions hunker down

in tall grasses,

and even elephants

lumber after safety.
When great trees fall

in forests,

small things recoil into silence,

their senses

eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,

the air around us becomes

light, rare, sterile.

We breathe, briefly.

Our eyes, briefly,

see with

a hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,


gnaws on kind words


promised walks

never taken.
Great souls die and

our reality, bound to

them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,

dependent upon their


now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed

and informed by their


fall away.

We are not so much maddened

as reduced to the unutterable ignorance

of dark, cold

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always

irregularly. Spaces fill

with a kind of

soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never

to be the same, whisper to us.

They existed. They existed.

We can be. Be and be

better. For they existed. 

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Poem – Old Folks Laugh

They have spent their
content of simpering,

holding their lips this

and that way, winding

the lines between

their brows. Old folks

allow their bellies to jiggle like slow


The hollers

rise up and spill

over any way they want.

When old folks laugh, they free the world.

They turn slowly, slyly knowing

the best and the worst

of remembering.

Saliva glistens in

the corners of their mouths,

their heads wobble

on brittle necks, but

their laps

are filled with memories.

When old folks laugh, they consider the promise

of dear painless death, and generously

forgive life for happening

to them. 

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