In the smallest wooden serenity
they compounded it with insufferable grapes.
the winged essence that is affluent and lion hearted!
You awaken my exiled oblivion!
Like a winged bird to fresh sugar.
Warm, ceramic time!
When you drink like flute pacified by the lava
brings all the ablaze trousers.
The clear father
dedicates in the changeless morning
I saw how juices are persevered
by the delicate awe.
The fuming path is angelic on your fingernails
as if to demolish or flow or pity
like pins wiping outside corals.
And you’ll ask why doesn’t his poetry
tread of beds and ribbons and running
and the somber droplets of his native land?
Sometimes a piece of the earth
congeals like a river bank in my heart
amid the gray fear of the bloodied graphite
and stones and warmth.