Unclear
Thousands of night insects in your hair, some on your
mouth, one in your eye, unmethodical shadows,
you said,
allusive stars. The beekeepers returned with covered
baskets. The acetylene of the fisherman lit the tree.
The night bird wasn’t heard. Perhaps the fish lives
better, you said. They put on a small fire on the hill.
Time, yes, is unwilling. If, at least, we were to find
that harbour statue again, on its pedestal, remember?
The young oarsmen secured the boats. Five dogs stood
around him and looked at his feet and the toenails,
not higher than his chest. Luckily, the lamppost was
a bit further and the water was lit.
Libros Libertad 