Lives like maize were threshed in the bottomless granary of wasted deeds, of shabby incidents, from one to sevenfold, even to eight, and not one death but many deaths came each man’s way: each day a petty death, dust, worm,…
While flower to flower gives up the high seed and rock keeps its flower sown in a beaten coat of diamond and sand, man crumples the peal of light he picks in the deep-set springs of the sea and drills…
From the air to the air, like an empty net, I went on through streets and thin air, arriving and leaving behind, at autumn’s advent, the coin handed out in the leaves, and between spring and ripe grain, the fullness…
We are the clumsy passersby, we push past each other with elbows, with feet, with trousers, with suitcases, we get off the train, the jet plane, the ship, we step down in our wrinkled suits and sinister hats. We are…
With my little terrestrial bird, my rustic earthen jug, I break out singing the guitar’s rain: alleged autumn arrives like a load of firewood, decanting the aroma that flew through the mountains, and grape by grape my kisses were joined…
Hands shading eyes, I follow the high flight: honoring heaven, the bird traverses the transparency, without soiling the day. Winging westward, it climbs each step up to the naked blue: the entire sky is its tower, and the world is…
In the night we shall go in to steal a flowering branch. We shall climb over the wall in the darkness of the alien garden, two shadows in the shadow. Winter is not yet gone, and the apple tree appears…
I am the Pablo Bird, bird of a single feather, a flier in the clear shadow and obscure clarity, my wings are unseen, my ears resound when I walk among the trees or beneath the tombstones like an unlucky umbrella…
Today is that day, the day that carried a desperate light that since has died. Don’t let the squatters know: let’s keep it all between us, day, between your bell and my secret. Today is dead winter in the forgotten…
The truth is in the prologue. Death to the romantic fool, to the expert in solitary confinement, I’m the same as the teacher from Colombia, the rotarian from Philadelphia, the merchant from Paysandu who save his silver to come here.…
