The red stones
the lilacs
and girls
wave from the seashore
Who is calling us
from the roof of our house?
We built our house by the sea
They are pearls in shells
and they are big coral forests on deserted sea floors
We crafted our flutes
with the bones thrown last night
in front of our yard by the singing storm
Hear our song oh mother
the song of a new voyage
You who lament for death
don’t recognize us
The sea doesn’t cry
it sings
End of the Sunday mass
whitewashed yard
opposite the sea a silent bell-tower
that chimed souls Saturdays of seamen
and now laughs in the sunshine
We have father’s pipe in our lips
under our student hats
the Southern Cross and ancient mermaid
embroidered on the chest
Dark colored navy flannel
up to the neck
and as the girls gaze at us
we assume the wide and open stride
of world-traveled captains
In the girls’ glances the echo
of a big morning forest shivers
in musical limpidity
and trust
Libros Libertad 