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mom poem

arriba y abajo de él va
el aire es lleno de amanecer y de resorte
déme el hambre
el dulce con el fern y se levantó
quién nombrará el viento
mientras que estaba parado escuchar, discreto mudo
le cuento con
una pluma del acero
el banquete real fue hecho
podríamos sino saber
dígame
amo mi hora del viento y de la luz
no cuelgue ninguna guirnalda
para mirar todo el dia la onda azul encresparse y romperse

 



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