¡¡¡ FOREBODINGS !!! - POETRY

A fresh smell of bible, like a soft fern,

climb up my fingers.

Things are acquiring the sense of an exact geometry.

That's why you have to be, even if it's hidden,

in a curve of my fingers.



Now all things run away from his only presence:

the rivers are launched, determined to look for you,

where there are sleepwalking fish;

the wind rides through the hills,

with sigil of Indian,

and, already without strength, collapses in the night;

the woodcutters wonder if they have not cut off their legs;

and my fingers beg the impassive stone,

let my eyes enter his sleeping womb.



I am determined to find you:

desperate,

I will bite the roots of trees

until the field becomes a compass.

Tireless tire, in space

looking for the imperceptible root of the stone.



I will ask the sterile women

in which part they buried their children,

I will ask distances for their broad hands.

They will seek my lips beyond the grapes.

I want the key to open the circle!