BECAUSE OF AN ENGLISH LOVE

 

DELICIOUS LOVE SONG

 

books too many

 

The messengers went elsewhere.

Stork nests are empty

The wind still blows on the weather vanes though.

You know it well, go singer of time.

Someone hears your voice still.

Winning Madrid was a difficult matter.

The song of the magpie repeats the echo

They will not pass but they passed so much that they reached the sea.

The resentment of that remains.

The unabashed hatred of forgiveness and time.

But beautiful is life when May sunsets

And I pilgrim of the books

I'm repeating your name

like a psalm

The pages of the pensil do not return the echo.

I find that yes dissected leaves of your kisses

Among the withered pages.

A stuffed hair.

One note.

A gesture

virgin muse

laudable and noble

incandescent light

who paints the sunsets

Over the inaccessible arch

of the lofty rosicler

Of verses and letters and promises by the sea

I filled the amphora of my days.

And you don't come.

tell me for what reason

Little will they know of the courage

with what I fought for you

With what brio I carried your banners

love was a wasted dream

Extending myself.

And it is. Books too many.

Too many ideas.

Books so cheap they fill my drawer

Venero of silences and screams

Where your poetry flowed.

Oh source, hell and angel.

Indomitable genius.

The last word is not yet said

There are plenty of infinite directions

And the paths multiply

By the rose of the winds.

The last word is not said.

I do not give up

I seem to see your countenance

Shimmering already in the infinite mirrors.