POETRY

IO NO PUEDO DARTE MAS > Yo no puedo darte más. No soy más que lo que soy. ¡Ay, cómo quisiera ser arena, sol, en estío! Que te tendieses descansada a dascansar. Que me dejaras tu cuerpo al marcharte, huella tierna, tibia, inolvidable. Y que contigo se fuese sobre ti, mi beso lento: color, desde la nuca al talón, moreno. …

TIME LOVERS You wrap on the finger straw, there on the finger, where you dreamed a gold ring. I still conversed with the sun, and you already impallidivi in the moon. Behind us, suddenly he began to rustle. And posasti the shadow head, on its leaves. Capello after the hair, it took you. It only for the burning nettles, jealousy …

SOLO TU > Sólo tú le das brillo y amor a mi corazón. Sólo tú me miras con tanta pureza y belleza interior. Sólo tú llenas de alegría a mi alma. Sólo tú conoces mis secretos, deseos y anhelos. Sólo tú me transmites calor con tus manos. Sólo tú me das fuerzas para seguir viviendo. Sólo tú me hablas con …

UNLEASH MEMORIES These days I think of the wind blowing through your hair, the years that I was in the world before you, and to eternity that before you go to meet, the bullets did not kill me in battle, but they killed my friends, me better because they did not live as well as I do, I think of …

THE BORDER I am seeking the principle of evil, as a child I tried the margins of the rain. With all ran forces, to find the place where to sit on the ground, and contemplate the one part rain, on the one hand no rain. But always the rain stopped, before they found out the boundaries, and began again, first …

FORGIVE THE MOON Sour, mutilates, over large areas, perhaps the tenth time so, as a clumsy stripped wanderer, passing the Moon. On its face, the tired smile of old rascals, and under her, the camp gets up with a sentence that is lost in sighs. plain covered with wounds, sterile and lean, in a subdued light, ironic, the moon bathes …

LOVE My soul was a light blue dress color of the sky. I left him on a cliff, at the sea, and naked I came to you, resembling a woman. And as a woman, I sat at your table, and I drank a cup of wine, I breathed in the scent of roses. You found me beautiful, that I looked …

A PORT IN THE MEDITERRANEAN I do not know what is more important, the spicy sweetness of bitter coffee, mixed with the taste of the first cigarette in the morning, or the smell of fish and boats, freshly painted. The washed clothes on the wire, between the almond trees in bloom, or the mountains that put them in prominence. No, …

BLACK MAPS Not the attendance of stones, nor the applauding wind, shall let you know you have arrived. Nor the sea that celebrates only departures, nor the mountains, nor the dying cities. Nothing will tell you, where you are. Each moment is a place, you’ve never been. You can walk, believing you cast a light around you. But how will …

SUMMER Summer climbs the mountains. Flowers overcolour and blanch. Men leave the sun and sit, tree-tented, by the cold creek. Horses bray, each apart in the warm air, and the long grass whiffles in a lime plain. Hushed and still, the horseherd stand in whiter-high; and wave the flies away with silk-swish tails; and colts clatter the air, rippling the …