IV
I pass by flooded by the light
in the routine of the clouds
and suddenly I’m nailed on the soil;
a myopic ant gets close to me
leaves its burrow
its crumbles
climbs up from my nail
I’m in danger again
I’m again ready for death
with my belly, my arms;
I’m trapped
the ant wins
carries me, bitter, dried up matter
while the uneducated cicada
screams in all that passion.
Yes, the cicada
turns the day tangible again
short and contracted
but of such immenseness.
Day of the cypress and of the creaking door
my day
first thus simple
last thus simple.
Libros Libertad 