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friendship poems

ochenta años han pasado, y más
hasta su ventana del compartimiento
glooms de los vivir-robles
encima de los prados ricos con maíz
una milla detrás
dentro de mi mano sostengo
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas
los hice una oferta todo el adiós
sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
uno por uno, como se va de un árbol
no éramos muchos
hay una ciudad, builded por ninguna mano

 



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