I usually do in the tenderness of a high memory, letting it pass
curvature of the hours,
without being noticed his wonderful reward
with my heart weed and bird.
II
And I think that at this point in life when
verse comes attached to the spokes that support
hunger and darkness, I could not suck more
that a soft feel, slightly
kneeling in front of the altar of God for anything, how little
I want to have ... if I leave soon.
III
few things entertain my breast tenderness:
the warm embrace that leaves the moon on
pitcher filled with water as a lamp to illuminate the vast
light from above or feel
the refrain of a centipede making music in the air.
IV
But the tenderness is a holy flame that never goes out
, so many dreams hanging stands full. Only
and silence I found you just pleased to be seen
between hay and almond
lying at the foot of the night.
V
desire nothing for me but the joy of being
this, by the river, or near a tree in bloom
giving its roots to the land, coupled
the flowers that keep me walking excited
of sea grass on the waves.
this, by the river, or near a tree in bloom
giving its roots to the land, coupled
the flowers that keep me walking excited
of sea grass on the waves.
VI
And happiness is not what turns me on redeeming
light eyes, but on the day burn-sharp
blonde, makes my goodness having a passageway
on the front.
VII
Demanding is the tenderness and do not know
barefoot through the Via Dolorosa, wants more of itself
and ambitions, loves, hopes, and growing angry
not echo the passion beyond
abundance or drought of his fate.
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