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kid poem

aquí miente una seńora más hermosa
como vela blanca
sobre ellas todas, mirando abajo
es usted despierto?
estrella-polvo y luz vaporosa
no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
usted piensa, mi muchacho, cuando pongo mis brazos alrededor de usted
no ruego para la paz
la oscuridad rueda hacia arriba
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
no éramos muchos
soplador de vidrio del tiempo
serene de la tarde y brillante verdes

 



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