AIRE SOBRE EL AIRE
.
III
.
Cesar Moro, beautiful and humbled
playing a harp in the outskirts of Lima
said to me: come into my house, poet
always ask for air, clear sky
because we must die someday, it's understood
we must be born, and you are already dead
the floor will always be here, wide and mute
but dying from the same family is to have been born.
No comments:
Post a Comment