In the mailbox was left this morning
The remains of two dead birds
A black ribbon and a brief list
Of the steps that were never taken.
The earth trembled shaken by a spasm
The candles blew out, the candlewick parched
The books lost the words sustaining them
And they died embarrassed knowing they had become mute.
This morning the sun divided in two
And displacing the other planets
It illuminated all the places in earth
And even the blinded ones asked for a little more shadow.
Some oaks were torn from their roots
The burnt grass refused to drink in the dew
The fish could visualize the time
And they all gave up in to the nets and fishhooks.
In the agenda of the corridors
Appeared the details of procedures
That would be accomplished weeks later
And the trams cried their desire to become trains.
And although I knew deep within
That you believe that from your body I keep
Only the memory of what happened with mine
I can say that it’s enough for what doesn’t fulfill me.
In vain then is to explain the almost magical details
From the washers hands on the banks of the stream
The countryman laboring with the harnesses when it rains
And the perspiration on the brow of the sweeper at noon.
A false image of me is already vivid in your mind
While in mine everything is irredeemable including
Like a pitcher with a hidden desire to be replenished little by little
To be suddenly broken and it returns to its original state.
And since years ago, we don’t talk in hours of the morning
And we always knew, so to speak, since the first moment
As the prey knows when the hour has come
But despite that doesn’t surrender but fights on ignoring it.