THE FOG
Ghosts crowd the streets,
clinging to women’s long hair.
They go together, intertwined,
the spirits of the mobsters
with the spirits of virgins and hermits,
ghosts of black cats
with the spirits of witches,
thiny widows, lapdogs
and stray dogs
they form a dense cloud of fog
in the plume of the comet.
I saw the spirits of forgotten,
undulating, soaked, indecisive,
sex symbols
and of pale artists…
I’m walking with the fog, too,
listening to the lame jokes
of the giggler,
who took his heart between his teeth
and died young.
Libros Libertad 