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child poetry

amo mi vida, pero no demasiado bien
soy el viento que duda
buena mujer
escrito en una noche del vuelo
una sombra gris fina en el borde del pensamiento
una vida en la onda del océano
para estos brazos blancos sobre mi cuello
oscilado en la horquilla del profundo
sé no dónde
si muero, piense solamente esto en mí
escuche el mar del sonido
cuál era él los motores dichos
dije
encima de los prados ricos con maíz

 



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