astral
waiting for the sleep
where dreams and reality converge
so that the damage can be repaired
before it settles too deep
before the persecutors can reclaim it
were it necessary, i would write with the mold off the walls, were it necessary
____________
then you arrive
bringing with you what dawn dispersed
you envelop my stomach
the delicate mantle that comes off your skin
and you lay at my side the second star that dresses the city
the woman cuts the circle
in the end i imagine myself with
ivory spots on my rough face
resounding active voice
i will have abandoned the manuals
i won’t write to be read
but for the gesture of existing
breaking the circles
chess will be my school
of silence
i will recognize my isolation
and feel the flame of the world
in the simple pleasure
of looking at it
the way you look at a hearth
fulgurant in ruins and images
when the tree becomes coffin
i will go back to telling myself subsoil secrets
visible hiding invisible
finally a sphinx
with no questions
the silent sting
in every woman’s womb
everything i’ve loved i’ve loved alone
everything i’ve hated i’ve hated alone
don’t step on the grass
a secret palpitation in my heart
i’m going to grab nature by the tail
look at my watch
not even noon yet
waiting at your door
to tell you the good news
here by the benches
and this sign
don’t walk on the grass
i took down the sign
i like the desert
i like the desert
that is what they want me to think
i must not forget water
nor forget to divide water
cannot forget the seeds
nor forget to water the seeds
the men loan me their beautiful tools
i plant germinate and harvest
i incorporate crop residues
the soil is arid
i cannot forget to replenish the nutrients
it is important to think about climate
costs
minimum area
the men of the desert take planks
science
and firm fingers
they are the ones who connect everything
to a sense
wherever they go places that weren’t there sprout up
they raise themselves
and their beautiful tools too
i cannot forget to give back the tools
and on the way out give my greetings
my function is to keep watch over vegetables
i cannot forget to divide the harvest
the house the inspiration
the hands and feet
nor the least light
“a lot of things are starting to strike out against the walls of my poem”
i smile while they take my child by the hand
lift my face
close my notebook
and breathe deep
i remember when i went on leaving myself