Flow and Stream
I’d like to be a bird on the deck of chaos
groping body of flashes
unmentioned versions
an orphan tongue inside of me
shattered words
bird searching for the path to the unexpected
to a route that doesn’t know itself
and it doesn’t question
like the rocks don’t question
the stony echo of the shore
Someone next to me speaks the language of the ocean
and leaves seeing the innocence
ready to give birth
wandering in the solid void
rusty craft that insists
in the page that ended and doesn’t return
an anonymous wind inside of me lifts
the flow of the seafloor, invisible coming
the moment is shattered and acquires
all the paths that lead to the miracle
all its life a daydream in vigil
to say just one word
deep thought and inexorable
to believe
Behind the family tree of eternity
retreats the golden fleece and
the tragedy of the distant signal
to the center of the inexplicable
the heart of zero becomes One
having always rained flashes in there
tides with enigmatic wavelengths emigrate
the alpha-beta of wandering intensifies
ink made of stardust
groping on the hair of the woman
it writes words
since the time she was a girl
along with the hieroglyphics of dusk
quay of the night
lampposts of Eros
galloping of innocence
I walk next to me, over the piers
emotions flow in eternity
tomorrow is already upon us
what can one decipher?
Each star is one word on
the path to the labyrinth
an old wound that doesn’t heal
secret keys to the galaxy
the covenant of kites
many goodbyes thrown out
goodbyes without any recipient
the seed we planted
is not for this soil
it will spring out to meet the borders of things
to get to know
the passages to destinations.
What the road leaves behind
is a mite of mortality
seagull floating over the illusion of distance
we shall exist for a while among
the contribution of the waves
where the rock dreams of becoming a mountain
the grass of becoming a tree in the night
the horizon line thread of the ephemeral
the flower I could cut for you.
The river has many homelands
it flows, it doesn’t think
it flows loaded with seasons and people
it leaves behind it
watery moments
short flowery nights
on its flow to an endless secret.
Libros Libertad 