Riddle of the Unwritten
Now that this poem is ready to appear,
it hasn’t yet left its shell,
I think of you, the unknown reader
having it in front of you, typed, whole
and now you hastily run,
certain of its thoughtfulness,
stumbling along,
you run to read the last verse
to cut, in a flash, the Gordian knot
of its unwritten meaning
which has no
compassion for me at all
as, in each step, it shifts
meaning and rhythm
eight, ten, twenty times
until finally
at the last moment
I’ll learn what you’ve
already known with certainty
and from the first moment:
the last verse.
Libros Libertad 