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slam poetry

mi amor verdadero de su almohadilla se levantó
el existir del cisne
allí por la ventana en la vieja casa
era un oysterman joven alto
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
con rojo de la sangre de los labios y el corazón de la piedra
pero alas, sueños justos
las viejas canciones
suavemente ahora la luz del día
burly, humilde-abeja el dormitar
hasta su ventana del compartimiento
quién nombrará el viento
en la tierra silenciosa
tristes son que saben no amor

 



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