Eleventh Hour
Boyish wolf with silvering
eyes and arctic garments leaves
his feast on the thigh of a dead elk
and the vulture succumbs to his
thoughts and turns away from the
god of rifles moment of mortal truth
Jehovah mixes letters in
the privacy of puffy clouds and
words such as envy gluttony greed
appear as undressed concepts
sugared with murmurs of an
absurd song and oftentimes as if desperately
grasping toward some inexplicable truth
as if holding the mane of a mare
running over open ground
words splattered on yellow daffodils
like spread bed sheets on wind
with pink sea anemones pasted on
the blank forehead of a gracious monk
how to complicate his sleep or
how to gift the fragrance of your sweat
with pleasure at the eleventh hour
of the righteous tirade kicking over
the half-erect wall of abandoned hope
and He smiles at it all
daydreaming and saying nothing
leaving it all to my will and of course
faculty to choose
wrestle with the senseless
even the dumb stone underfoot
without misfortunes of its own asks the
question and the bearded monk
yells from his adulterous thoughts:
who cares?
Libros Libertad 