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birthday poetry

pero alas, sueños justos
estoy muriendo
no cuelgue ninguna guirnalda
una niebla conducía abajo
arrojé mi alma al aire como un vuelo del halcón
hice una pausa el marco abierto
porqué hágale siempre soporte allí que tiembla
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
el pequeño lamentable, usado, caras el reír
debajo de un árbol de la castaña que se separa
usted es mi compañero
los he oído en la noche

 



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