Absence
He held the shadow of his hands in his hands.
It was a calm night, others couldn’t see that he was holding
his shadow.
He empowered the night. He was careful. He paid more
attention to others than to himself.
The sea still searched for his eyes. He was absent.
A little girl was buttoning his coat slowly;
he was looking elsewhere as he enjoyed the great
distance.
Perhaps a light was turned on up high, in the starlight, that
was looking at the olive tree groves and the burnt-up houses.
He was listening to the butterfly that returned into the glass
of the All Souls Saturday
and to the fisherman’s daughter who was grinding the quietness
of the coffee.
Libros Libertad 