"glaucos" poems
Tus ojos me recuerdan
las noches de verano
negras noches sin luna,
orilla al mar salado,
y el chispear de estrellas
del cielo ***** y bajo.
Tus ojos me recuerdan
las noches de verano.
Y tu morena carne,
los trigos requemados,
y el suspirar de fuego
de los maduros campos.Tu hermana es clara y débil
como los juncos lánguidos,
como los sauces tristes,
como los linos glaucos.
Tu hermana es un lucero
en el azul lejano...
Y es alba y aura fría
sobre los pobres álamos
que en las orillas tiemblan
del río humilde y manso.
Tu hermana es un lucero
en el azul lejano.De tu morena gracia,
de tu soñar gitano,
de tu mirar de sombra
quiero llenar mi vaso.
Me embriagaré una noche
de cielo ***** y bajo,
para cantar contigo,
orilla al mar salado,
una canción que deje
cenizas en los labios...
De tu mirar de sombra
quiero llenar mi vaso.Para tu linda hermana
arrancaré los ramos
de florecillas nuevas
a los almendros blancos,
en un tranquilo y triste
alborear de marzo.
Los regaré con agua
de los arroyos claros,
los ataré con verdes
junquillos del remanso...
Para tu linda hermana
yo haré un ramito blanco.
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CONJECTURL AMBIT
The earliest thought- I was a blind rock: mineral feeling of an uncut idol, my pressed wings induce a false sleep. I don't trust me as part of a building because my frozen nerves are still related to ****** business and my stability depends on old things' roots. Like a snail in the memory's spiral I make slow circles in a Levantine tower, living places are overlapping to form an upright native land, a growing mirror with all my moments in a wintery evangelical succession, annular heads raising from a well where peoples' liquid mind mix. I can hardly bear it, wearing fancy clothes I try to cover the mythological Meat, the inhuman side of the flesh, the anatomic stains. Drinking tea I clean my conscience, oh, lovely furniture and fine art objects, do you realize that I'm completely happy in your abstract presence? Do you realize that you keep my eternity in precious fragile eggs? You bloom at the end of the matter, you touch the other sky, the brown heavy sky polished by silvery cats-indefinite slippery ideas about beauty, the intimate effort of a deeply ploughed woman in order to cicatrize herself. The meadow's malachite door is open, I can see the primary glaucos mass of terrible friends, butterfly marrow, the viscous veins of raw angels, my negative steps under the ruined house, our unforgettable bodies swimming in the magma. So, I'm a resting beast between fish and bird, nothing is totally seen or totally heard, this light Protection, the transparent humanism is the only glamour of the organism
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 11:09 AM UTC