The laborious goldfinches
look for seeds under the snow
persistent creatures
they don't give up!

The neighbor's dog
sleep on the fallen leaves
above  eaglets hover in circles
alerts and proud

The cypress waves its branches
to the west wind
drawing riddles
on snow

Even in the white wasteland
life does not stop for anybody

Brave hearts that bleed
Indomitable souls what they want break
Free  humans
Spirits who feel lonely

You are not alone.

We are above the dame sky

There is a girl,
on the threshold of the world,
right there,
where everything is

But there are no castanets.

There is a girl,
as of Blue, she is of all colors,
with smiles of sunrises.
As a girl she has all ages,


Survivor,
pertinacious,
anxious about life,
delight of this life.

Drawing back the veils of time,
with a lot of effort,
she knows about death,
as much as I know

She has hope somewhere.

Soft and hard,
never give up,
Even in the night!
She wants to be eternal.

There is a girl sitting,
It's a girl,
who longs,
that suffers,
Even almost losing the balance.

Where the night and the day are one
uncertain place, she is

There is a ******* the edge of the world!

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!

In quarantine the glasses appear thicker
The furthest trees
muted sounds
Life slows down

I am losing the memory of hugs,
the softness of the skins,
the intensity of the looks
and the heat of the kisses

I'm like in a long dream
In which I go from hope to weariness
The leaves seem to sway to the beat of a music I do not hear.
Isolation makes me feel strange

And by the way the sky is clearer

Ema has eyes of full silence
that silently say it all
Look of gentle wolf
wolf herd mother

Warm eyes, flashes of the soul
Where you can guess pride
They overflow tenaciously,
of woman of the earth,
hands on earth

Ema's eyes

That tell still alive stories
With the softness of the iron edge
With the shine of fine steel

If one knows how to see,
see in the eyes of Ema.

Eyes that become gigantic in mine
Deep in the deep
Recognizing signs and traces
of Yesterday, of Today, of the future,
of the eternal.

Eyes of a wolf herd mother.
This is how Ema's eyes are.

I've already lived, I think, most of my life
Time breaks down and disarms
Time is always short, slender.

And not by looking back,
I have to become salt.
Life is full of miracles and wonders
Always!


Even in the mud
In despair,
in the void
and the anguish

And for that I give thanks

Even near  the end
The moon is my friend

The day shines
In the eyes of love
As a deep lake.

I love Sunday mornings!

When the city barely babbles softly,
and only some rumors cut the song of the birds.
The calm is almost solid,
while the Sun turns my room orange,
and in my pupils .......
the moonlight says goodbye for a while.

Perfums of the pink acacia,
a moon crowned with lips of fires.
the silent vision of some bodies,
in a flowery bridge.

Images,
intimate secrets,
breezes of aromas,
destiny  of time.

A good body does not age quickly,
everyone knows.

Song of the night to the light,
shine of eyes without light
howls of loneliness,
and only a small pain.

The memories spill,
sneak in the sand,
and for tomorrow........
no traces

And the raging winds will roar.

There is nothing more visible than what is not.

I still feel the sounds of a love
warm and incomplete
Honest and deep
Bigger than myself.

Life gave me this gift
For my joy
even with pain
To learn in spite of my sadness.......
..... if I'm capable,
of my fullness

Life gives me everything
without waiting for an answer

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

One can some things
, being isolated less.

Moisture stains tell me
I give them shapes,
I name them
Today are my clouds.

The first woman is there,
in the corner corner,
good-natured, teacher,
sweet.

I see the tamarisks,
that hip
in the wind
our enjoyment

Suddenly and through my eyes,
everything is there,
  and I also.

  somewhere,
... well maybe I'll get in there

we are all longing walkers of our dreams

let's do it well
at list
just one time

Caress your waist,
is to feel the wheat,
golden,
tender
mature

Is Like to look around the field,
see the swallows cut the air,
in invisible thrusts ...
under the sun.

Caress your waist is summer!

Feel the turgid seeds,
ready,
throbbing,
full of life.

Your sparkling waist!

It is feeling the warm tremor,
almost tremolo,
of you,
of your being.

Your waist in my hands .....
and the walls do not matter,
nor the streets,
nor the stairs.

I would fly with you ......
clinging to your waist

Today Chewing has become almost philosophical.

The time is short,
and the eternal mysteries,
they will remain.

This is Earth,
dear deads,
and not another dream.

And here the moment,
to live it ...
just once.

Memories,
as grain fall,
dust of time.

In my sadness,
in darkness,
all beings

¿Who will remake,
this body,
what is still throbbing?


I Know to double the pain ......
pervives childhood,
as a wounded tree.

Under the twilight,
we are strangers
A rarity

It rains hard,
and the night stretches ...
memories are drops.

The walls whisper,
voices from the past
that at night  laugh.

I'm deceived,
this is what I have:
empty hands

After the scars,
my heart beats,
and crave.

"You are not alone",
They say ...

But I know the truth.

Although I dance and laugh,
my soul bleeds ....

Take my hand!

At birth we only know that we will die

It's the only thing written
everything else is adventure
surprise
pain and joy

Let's all know how to live it
braves
wirth hopeful
ever open

Let's be eternal while we live
Our lives are only written in the sand

Be free from life and death!

Feeling the smoothness of the snow,
the steam coming out of my nostrils,
crackling my steps on the ground,
in the solid silence of the night.

thoughts,
omens,
wishes .......
and flavors never forgotten.

Vapors of a skin,
in which  has lodged me,
that has been opened to me ...
alive,  healthy and extensive.

A skin that is honey,
open as a fruit,
fleeting,
almost  steams and shines at night.

Just join the pain,
someone said once......
truth,
but it's only half the truth

He knew it later
luckily he saw this at time
and he could be happy
Thanks  Ursula!

If the sheets were skins ....
and my body,
were those bodies,
I would haunt the bed, .......
looking, surprising, celebrating. ....

If those eyes that I know, ....
they would settle down here, ....
and they looked at me lying ...
seeing my being
 
If the breeze were your breath .....

I would not hear my breathing, ....
nor the crackle of the springs, ...
nor the music
ot the  dogs.


If someone else ... not anyone.

This book by my side would rest with the others .....
I would not be looking north ...
nor looking .....

 
I would not notice the time, ....
I would not notice the ****** of the Lenga .....
surely it would not open the windows ...
I would not be sitting or standing ...
he would not look at my hands.

 
If the heat I feel was not mine alone.
If the laughs.
and the bodies.
and the skins.
 
If you were here
the breeze would be your breath.

Love
Even with instructions for sinking.
He's given me more
than pains and sufferings

I just regret it.
that I've let go of.
those to whom I turned my back
that I allowed to leave without trying

I have stolen more than once
hopes,
dreams,
and agonistic wishes.

I fired my memories many times,
I have refused to take some roads.
I have spent the night with death,
and I have awakened alive and sane.

I went out at an age that most still do not even accept to enter.

I have traveled roads at night,
of which others do not dare to speak,
no drunkards,
or in the light of day.

I've talked a lot,
loved women,
I have written some words and
listened many songs.

My name is Julio........
Maybe you have heard about me ........

Do you need to believe?

Believe in you first!

Do it in your affections
In that friendly look
That kind word
Believe in love and pain

They join us
truly,
they make us human .....
or more humans at least

I once thought I saw
which is written on a banana leaf

Maybe it was like that,
If not
I really like its flavor

Even if it does not say anything
or deserves to be read

And it's excellent with cream!

The silence is total,
except for the boots,
walking down the hall,
no sound is mine

they do not leave me
they come
and inside I crunch
even silence is not the death of sound.

 

It's cold,
much,
to the bone,
Take me off, take away ......

First grade physics:
the cold does not exist,
it's just a transfer fee ...
but ****
I am cold.

I have lost weight?

I do not know,
does it matter?

... ..I do not even have the belt to measure it.

There is no mirror,
no reflections ...
I do not look at me.

I feel so light!

A wise man said:
what you give, you give it
what you do not give, you take it away.

In a closed fist only a little sand fits,
by an open hand
It passes all sand of the desert.

To give you must be willing to receive.

Maybe Autumn is the easiest time to see it.

That leaf ... that leaf ...  eternal ....... yes.

The salt covered her face,
forming tiny crystals,
in the corner of her lips.

Her eyes closed,
Moving  under the eyelids,
slow,
in a relaxed sleep.

She raises her hand with guessing
where he is,
almost to her side.

Seeing how crystals form,
how his face shines against a distant light.

A hand stops in the air,
soft,
like following a music that has stopped.

He makes hugs gestures,
and supports her hands.

A smile is drawn,
the crystals fall off,
regulars,
in waves they shed.

Hes hands go to chest
that breathes,
, their mouths opens.

There will be no more salt.
... the thirst will be quenched.

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

The hand goes down through the air,
crossing a non-existent silhouette,
memories of a body,
leave my gentle me cold.

Perfumes like daggers,
sublime aromas,
cutting the wind
in empty scrolls.

Soul that is,
that lives,
that waits,
this soul of mine.

See obstacles and not the magic,
sterile spell,
creeping path,
a false noise

My hands runs through the air,
cutting the winds,
dodging daggers,
caressing the perfume of magic.

There is the desert,
where the flower does not rest,
where the myth surrounds us,
and a hell that keeps us awake.

Life and death on the ground,
with huge cold stars,
Thousands of legendary paths
Uncertain place of hunting.

There ,
the earth dismisses its children,
there,
we are all nomads.

My clover has only fourteen leaves
No more no less
The light is poor
in my west window

What name will you have?
when you redo ...
will you be hungry?

After the wall,
the grass burns,
and the weather blows.

When you can,
Take your dreams,
to walk on the sand.

Your shadow in my hand,
it came on the lips,
and the night that vanished.

We would play to find where,
just for breathing,
Sliding through the windows.

I still feel your aroma,
the joy,
the laughts.

waiting for the right place and time,
there are no longer carousels.

In the horizons of life,
life oozes,
complete,
and hot.

Even in death the Sun shines,
As never before,
As usual,
How it should be.

The girl with the hat looks at me,
sideways.

As it happens,
How did I go?

We are looking for carousels,
We look for walls,
We search,
Something that lets us stay.

The peace of the night is disturbed,
the day,
the days,
they fall off and fall.

The mists play with memories,
my eyes are troubled,
the muscle tenses up ......

We are alive!!

I see in the distance,
I cross it,
dense,
heavy,
and long

I'm still here,
and it's not a miracle,
just stubbornness,
and ignorance.

I celebrate
and I give thanks.

In the sands of time,
the red beat,
almost at the end,
of this end.

For not wanting to see .....
What else will be lost?
By those hands ....
What else have you not touched?

There is a horizon,
There,
all around,
the summits of life.

Of the event,
of those hands,
the power to see from behind,
and contemplate the infinite.

I would like a more flowery dress,
and some less sinister clouds .....

The city purrs,
someone stumbles
and it says curses ........

There are hoses on the street.

Everything is white, black,
blurry,
greenish in the corners.

She whispers something,
with your index finger on her lips,
frowning,
A mermaid sounds
with a gesture she puts in its place the porter.

She  is still standing.
Is it all you wanted and deserve?

Someone climbs a ladder,
a child greets,
she makes a sculpture
with her  packages.

Was she a different person?

The time is thinner,
and the night fades,
...... she wish were then ...

She leans to soften her neck
Acommodates  her coat ,  
and look at the taxi driver,
but he  did not pay attention

She keeps frowning .....
She still standing,
Is it all you wanted and deserve?
She is a different person, I think.

Every secret keeps a truth,
and all truth entails a sacrifice.

But forgiveness is with you ...
.... to be feared.

We are born
because we are going to die.

From the deep
I invoke ...
Doubt is part of the faith.....
they are one.

Who knows a truth?
Who dares
to a sacrifice
much greater,
than to stop being  himself?

What caught my attention?

Her honest smile,
Her intense eyes.
Her curly hair.
Her relaxed face.

His soft and low voice.

What surprised me?

The ease with which she disarmed my complexities.
The sweetness with which she walked in all my corners.
the sonorous joy with her that filled the spaces.

Her love
frank, direct,
without folds,
without anesthesia!


What I amused by her?

Our culinary experiments.
Her uncontrollable fear of spiders.
Her concentration when I became serious.
When she pretended she did not understand my jokes.

Listen to her changing plans.

What I remember?

The walks in the countryside on summer nights.
When she sat at the table to put on her stockings.
The breakfasts in bed on Sundays !!
The mechanical effort to start her Citroën in the mornings.
Our games in the hammock of the gallery.


What I miss?

That I liked to go shopping.
That she bought me my shirts.
Her absolute complicity.
How she shuddered me.


What makes me sad?

That he has not discovered the secrets of those valleys.
That he has not spoken until sunset with Cachimayo Cruz.
when I believe listening to someone laugh like her.

That she is no longer my witness.
That she has not been a mother

the poems are messages thrown in a bottle to the sea
never we will know where arrive
nor when
nor how
nor who read
nor how  those eyes be

A being so silent,
reeves,
his life,
Absorbed from his own life.

It weaves wonders,
soft,
that will shake,
that dazzled.

Pure skin

The hand, the fingers,
they just rub,
the faithful texture,
warm and alive

The silk of your ***,
the warmth of your neck,
your body......
silk.

Magnificent fabric
True fabric.
As a kiss promised.

Pure silk.

He has a special connection with horses
and they with him
It was magical and intimate
a mystery without words
The master of horses!

Queta was my uncle grandfather
At 12 I learned about the 21 's trisomy

Words are things, say the Wolof .....

Words have a body and walk.
We almost that much ......
or almost nothing.

A red falls and floods everything,
like unforeseen thunder
the laughter is not for the masks,
they should be for the faces.

Do you agree?

Here and there .....
life,
not a sweet consolation,
without incentive,
just life

At times
my hands fall,
and my body gives way,
not always

Words have a body and walk,
if they stay still they die,
we have to feed them
said the Wolof

To your origins
to your vital marks,
for your face that understands me.
I give myself ...

And they come to look at me mute,
hard,
contents

I know I'm alive,
I touch me ... ..and here I am!
I feel in my hip,
the heat of my skin,


I am, I am, I am!
 

And the lack of a mattress,
and light are friends,
still cold floor is my friend,
the door is my companion,
I am your friend.

Who do the walls put out?

It is important to know where it is outside,
to know if I am inside.

Who is there?

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.

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.

My house is warm
for me for and my people
It's home i guees

Sterile ***** of sharp stones,
shattered rocks,
dust
and more dust.

The eyes glued,
burning,
my muscles are ropes,
and nothing stops this cold.

Be suspended,
canceled from the world,
the words fall apart,
in a silent pain.

Where is the desire?

Can not reach,
I don't feel it,
I dont believe it,
no more


However I craved,
almost compulsive,
what I do not have,
what I do not catch

Beyond the edge of the horizon,
with the breath of the world on my back,
and a look where the days and nights are reflected

We've seen tomorrow
in the arms of our grandparents
and the shoulders of our fathers
Privilege brings responsibility......

Ethos

Who are you lifting up to today?

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.