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poem

ahora que me he refrescado a usted
ésos en el superior dicen que le conocen, tierra -- son mentirosos
mejore que el granito
por las mañanas nube-grises
dentro de este sepulcro humilde un conqueror miente
vea el tentativo
todavía trece años
renueve la visión del placer
las montañas son gente silenciosa
ella cojea con parar paso doloroso
cuál era él los motores dichos
había tres en el prado al lado del arroyo
como va un hombre desnudo yo
he venido en el desierto porque mi alma es athirst

 



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