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footprint poem

mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
no cuelgue ninguna guirnalda
poco parque que paso a través
como él de quién alcohol en el resplandor del mediodía
los dĂ­as hypocritic
soy cansado de ser amargo y cansado de ser sabio
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
tengo gusto de ella
el aire es lleno de amanecer y de resorte
cuando un hecho se hace para la libertad
a qué una mujer la comparará querida
hermano, soy fuego

 



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