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short love poem

tenemos ninguna vergüenza?
la oscuridad roba las formas de todas las reinas
la oscuridad
ella oyó a niños el jugar en el sol
materia de la luna
podríamos sino saber
solitario y solitario
una pluma del acero
mi hijo es muerto y soy persiana que va
entre el humo y la niebla de una tarde de diciembre
escrito en una noche del vuelo
había tres en el prado al lado del arroyo
el merriment sin fin, absurdo de estrellas
para entonces fuera

 



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