Another letter
Jaime Sabines
're always by my side and I thank you.
When anger bite me, or when I'm sad
-spread with the balm for sorrow to die-
you appear distant, untouchable, next to me.
You look like a child and I forget everything
and I only want you happy, painfully.
I thought about the duration of God,
in lard and sulfur from the madness,
in everything that I could look in my short days.
You're like the milk in the world.
I know, you're always by my side more than myself.
What I can give it the sky?
remember that the poets have called the moon a thousand names
-medal God's eyes, silver globe, currency
groups, women, air-drop
but the moon is in heaven and is only moon
inexhaustible miracle like you. I want to mourn
sometimes furiously
because who knows what, something,
because you can not possess, own nothing,
longer be alone.
with the joy given to a poem,
or tenderness in the hands of grandparents trembles,
you approach me and
build me the balance of your eyes, the magic formula
in your hands.
A doctor told me that I have the heart
-long drop and a drop-and I believe
because I feel like a cave
that perpetually falls, and falls
perpetually regenerates.
Blessed among women
you, not hinder,
you who are on hand as the stick of the blind, as the truck
paralyzed. Virgin
still holds for you, always for the unknown
you know,
I can give you but what the hell?
From
swell your chest slowly sinking in my face, I look at you
, down to the balls of your feet
where the world begins. Skin
you wearing women, women
and humid Softness
bodies that gently penetrate statue melted
collapsed hands that touches your mouth I'm
and chaos that I am preserved. My
death hangs over both me and you extract from it like water from a well, water
thirst for God that I am then
water to the fire of God that food.
empty when the time comes you know spend your fingers
as an ointment, the eyes posarlos
feathered,
laugh with your fingertips.
What I can give me but the earth? Seeded
in manure on
watch my love grow like trees
that no one has jumped and whose shadow
dry grass, and a fever to humans.
Imperfecta, mortal, the daughter of men,
true
usurpers you, I know every day, and you pity me
used at all times
and love me, and I am then, as one of our children
longed .
I talk about you at all times
at a congress of the deaf,
show your picture to all blind people are. I want to give anyone
to come back to me without having left.
In parks, where there are birds and sun leaves on the ground, where
sweet you want the maids to look at children,
I wish, I dream.
nostalgia you do when you're away!
(I invite you to eat grapes this afternoon
or coffee, if it rains,
and be together forever, forever, until the evening.)
