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son poem

velas que derriban de lado en latas del tomate
los drowses pálidos del día en el occidental empapan
el sol caminĂł abajo de su trono de oro
he ganado la raza
como ella
cuando volvĂ­ en la puesta del sol
la nieve susurra sobre mĂ­
mi madre me trenza las rosas mojadas con rocĂ­o
estrella-polvo y luz vaporosa
la oscuridad roba las formas de todas las reinas
ruidos que se esfuerzan rasgarse
le cuento con

 



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