Deserted Little Island
Deserted little island of my loneliness
I go around your locales and
in the deep darkness of my night
I recognize the lighthouse of your glance.
In all your hollow rocks,
playthings of my joys, I’ve hid
my sullen grieving thoughts and
my futile guilt that have become pilgrims.
With cyclamens and capers flowers
wild begonias I again adorn
my youthful head
and songs I sing for you.
But here I am now, before your old castle
where the owl mourned
and again I feel that I have arrived
at the crevasse of the pier’s edge.
Libros Libertad 