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narrative poetry

he ganado la raza
si muero, piense solamente esto en mí
dice de buenas viejas épocas
pueden hablar de amor en una cabańa
sobre los tejados compita con las sombras de nubes
sobre ellas todas, mirando abajo
era un oysterman joven alto
éste es el arsenal
los cielos que eran ashen y sobrio
por el puente grosero
déme el hambre
nosotros que estaban parados
rompemos el cristal que vino sagrado
cuando un hecho se hace para la libertad

 



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