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sad poem

habĂ­a tres en el prado al lado del arroyo
no hay multitud, no obstante está mirado y tendido
la agonĂ­a del tener demasiada energĂ­a
noche misteriosa
el aire es como una mariposa
levantado de los muertos
si era muy seguro
en alguna parte leí un cuento extraño, viejo, oxidado
él vino tomarme por la mano
ahora mientras que están viviendo mis labios
para arropar el pensamiento ardiente

 



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