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son poem

no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
él vino tomarme por la mano
hace tres años hoy
las estrellas cayeron de cielo
tengo gusto de ella
debajo de un árbol de la castaña que se separa
cuando usted viene esta noche
si muero, piense solamente esto en mí
hice una pausa el marco abierto
como va un hombre desnudo yo
encima del sur en la rotura del día
las naves están mintiendo en la bahía
la pienso espléndido justo

 



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