Ocean’s March
Among the cracked evenings
when the oil-lamps of houses dripped tears
where the children prayed
in front of the sick Virgin Mary bed
in the snow where a
large lonely moon died
amid winds that crucified
the erotic wings of birds
we harvested warmth and light
to bloom a spring eulogy
And yet victory didn’t come it didn’t end
So thus alone alone
so much that death enamours us
and our shadow walks on the blond shore
like a peaceful oceanic bird
content with reflections and silence
abandoned by night and love
And yet the predawn didn’t arrive…
Libros Libertad 