These children sing,
these children dance,
these children laugh.

Lights, milds, plastics.

The tide and the moon guide everything and everyone.
The vultures are repeated in eternal circles.
Everything is a continuous fluid,
from the same sea to the tip of my palms

Joy is breathed slowly.
Especially at night ...

Here peace seems possible

Sparks sparkle from my hands
that illuminate the memory
of a dark city
of streets and passages,
of ochaves and walls

My eyes still see the candles
of the end of the earth,
a horse circling,
the brightness of some eyes
they look at me and they wrap me

And soft and firm hands,
and roaming the sidewalks,
lips and more lips
and a scent of surprises
that is stubborn here,
and I adore it.

The moon shines or shines
Or does it only reflect the dreams you keep?

And the moon goes at night
sustained by the blood of her sisters,
watering an aroma of fertile bellies,
of intertwined skin, of musk.

It caresses us, it watches us,
he looks at us, he lulls us,
He always forgives us forgetfulness,
at night cloudy,
of eclipses,
of stars.

Soft moon almost lightens,
a caress in the sky,
that reminds us,
the smoothness of a neck,
the touch in the hair,
the face,
the bodies all.

The moon is my Sister.

The loose notebooks
they walk around here and there,
taken out of hiding.
As the syndrome of Estolcomo

I see white walls
almost empty, almost
the free space
even within the walls,
I like space.

Light plays with the smoothness of the painting
tersuras of the picture, that I love,
that I saw him born,
smooth, creamy

The sounds come from above,
I put them there.
The hammock on the curtain.
The head of the condor in its place.

 And January Quetzal dominates everything,
before the mysterious look of the ebony slave,
on the corks of a thousand amazing wines.
 
And the universe according to the Tafi,
in the center of everything,
stars, the Moon,
under a round of fused hands.

All the bones are,
antlers, horns,
breastplates, fangs,
teeth, breastplates, tails.

Stones, rocks,
shells, conches,
scrapers,
more stones,
Eternal stones!

Compasses with watches,
the Russian chronometer,
ready as always,
the alarm clock of Churri.

While the notebooks enjoy their freedom,
and they come and go
And I do not draw anything

A beautiful female in her dresser chair,
who always turns his back on me,
yearning and fearful,
always beautiful.

How many beaches,
how many roads,
hills, mountains,
open immensities,
and traveled páramos.

Life does not stop!

Contemplate diversity
 It is sometimes astonishing.

To be deployed entails danger,
warning and wonder.
Far and close to everything,
only light conquers the silence of today.

Brown sands on my body,
reflections of a self-absorbed face,
an oath never said,
and without even a goodbye.

Bodies that have crossed,
one night destinations,
words in the cold air,
and a drop rolling on the skin.

The fleeting miracle of two open souls,
where the language ends,
and the eyes whisper,
and the skins speak.

A beauty that hurts now,
that hurts in memory,
that is definitively lodged,
digging into my being.

The knowledge that this something was profound,
it was finite,
it was surprising
  and unrepeatable.

Sweet pain of a night,
lived night,
in the light of a day,
in which the emptiness is felt.

Today I will be sitting,
with eyes closed,
  and upon awakening,
nothing will seal my pain?

There is no right path,
no doors,
no bridges,
nor eternal kiss.

I know, I do not deny

Loads forgotten in the wind,
smiles that empty my bones,
dissolved penumbras,
in hollow noises.

Memories of rapturous breaths,
Lying hands,
pleasant warmth,
and one tomorrow.


Today,
Nothing will be allowed,
over dried blood,
of this body,
in his last destiny.