Second Hour
I move my brush toward the eastern field
and the cows stop moving their tails
splashed in light brown hues, worm
and eagle earn gratification
in the nimble yawn of nostalgia
timely pendulum scimitar
tender sparrow tackles two seeds
in his beak and retreats to his brother
in the bushes one teardrop in an
irksome afternoon when chewing
a stick of gum embalms you
with such pleasure you can’t
think yourself more lucky
as you breathe fresh air rising
off the seashore dusk always
recurring as a faithful friend after
a tough day’s work which starts
the game of cynical Hades
evangelizing His fearsome enigma
the dark wind blows
as from the future and undresses
a decaying reality concocted by
hands of the few though the rose
traverses passing the eyes of the girl
who reflects at the redness of her lips
and shrugs her shoulders in loneliness
when the path of enmity grasps
thin air and ponders the question
while headmaster cinches the noose
around an apostate’s muscled neck
without concern for mercy
carving emblems and insignia
inked with blood crying out: who cares?
Libros Libertad 