Aris
Aris turned His eyes to the side when
I raised my arm to stop
the lullaby of a creek
wave froth on smooth
sand and the endless
rustle of tree leaves in my memory
melodies recanted
through the open window shutter
a reddish water pitcher
one wooden stool
stars and chants
that left thoughts
inexplicably saddening me
when the harsh north wind
galloped down
the mountainside
to claim its right
to my peaceful existence
in one dwelling made of clay
with a roof made of cane and soil
with a window always open
with a door ravaged and cracked
perforated emotions
and this was the palace
where I was served
my palatial dinner
and this was my first cry
in the wilderness of the unjust world
Libros Libertad 