Dream
Going to Hawaii with my beloved hovers in mid-air as the diaphanous creek releases its unsalted enigma to the ocean. Lone Death walks toward her shadow, and what can a bell toll in the silence of the dusk as the osprey dives to fetch his meal and the loon flaps his wings to fly away from boredom? One song stays still like the empty coffin in the funeral home
—What dress should I wear to Robert’s funeral, a long purple or a short black one?
Troubadour lost sense of the years, and he reappears by the northern lake, where only the auroras sing of my lost lover, and the leaden clouds only speak of the turquoise alpine lakes
—I want to look just fabulous today. Peter, my old flame, will be at the funeral
Where’s Hades’ sense of place when he ought to be close to the maidens in the castle and the dungeon where her beloved was kept for days?
—Your old flame won’t be there. Are you angry she’s dead?
Yet the days don’t matter. Yet the era doesn’t matter. Yes, I’m angry at the Fates who took you. There’s still another splash on the face of the green lake and another smile on the lips of the princess who appears as if from nowhere, an image you save for your old days, where else will you witness such beauty again?
—I want us to fly to Montreal this December, do you hear me?
Libros Libertad 