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footprint poem

sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
el solo puño apretado levantado y alista
los poetas dicen
no permanezca no más
el pequeño lamentable, usado, caras el reír
ciudad que no es una ciudad
rompemos el cristal que vino sagrado
hermano, soy fuego
hasta su ventana del compartimiento
no hay escape al lado del río
estrella-polvo y luz vaporosa
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
amo mi hora del viento y de la luz

 



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