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pastor appreciation poem

quién nombrará el viento
hice una pausa el marco abierto
el relámpago destellaba, y levantó
estoy muriendo
no cuelgue ninguna guirnalda
no sea falso
dice de buenas viejas épocas
debajo de la hoja oscura del laurel
hace de largo la luz del sol del verano brillar
sueño, hermano gris de la muerte
veo todos los ingenios humanos
usted oye la lluvia?
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocío
hermano, soy fuego

 



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