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memorial poem

dice de buenas viejas épocas
simplicidad
cómo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
los arcos del puente rojo
había tres en el prado al lado del arroyo
qué ocasión spiteful roba unawares
ese compañero extraño vino en mezclar pies
porqué lo haga
las montañas son gente silenciosa
deje el unsaid encantador de las palabras
encima del sur en la rotura del día
el cuerpo puede confinar
pero alas, sueños justos

 



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