We spent blood and sperm
with kites and clouds
over sunlit waters
with small wooden caiques
in the light blue bays
being fragrant with goodbyes
with kisses next to boats of the old dock
behind the tumble-down summer windmill
readying the long voyage to the unknown
And when we returned at dusk
with bloodied hands and broken knees
carrying the loot of tiredness:
watery images denying the shape
rosy bell-chimes of dusk
the spasm of regret
the void of struggle –
there under the shadow of the sea cemetery
our childish eyes smelled the silence
they heard the night’s passing
they heard beauty’s flute
that consoles the sad forehead
and justifies destiny
Who cuts to pieces God’s soul
and our joy
who divides silence
in a thousand names and stars
that stir and light our hands
that incise circles of loneliness
in the same sea
that preserves creative fire
but doesn’t take comfort?
Libros Libertad 