For the lady of sea and grain
roads
without beginnings, bright clothes, leavened bread
because she spoke
as if she never existed,
in the plain
of light or in the threatening hiss
of reeds, spoke
without need of guarantees,
swift shadow on horseback
heading south, beyond the forest, tonight.
A
The effort was to become real
but the world of places and measures
Tuesday morning
can’t
because it rejects any move whatsoever.
Neither point nor line
Like a drop, on a leaf, after a storm
only for the second time
he never knew anyone
because he wanted to be precise
till death
light zen, in a field,
the force that held the birds in flight
(an interruption and they would fall)
becomes the hell of counting them.
November and February
I wanted to love you with precision
Removing a scarf
we indicate borders
the lips
not to risk another
analogy between figures
but from precaution
a shout is rising.
