No one understood the perfume
of the dark magnolia of your womb.
Nobody knew that you tormented
a hummingbird of love between your teeth.
...
A tree of blood soaks the morning
where the newborn woman groans.
Her voice leaves glass in the wound
and on the panes, a diagram of bone.
...
Dawn in New York has
four columns of mire
and a hurricane of black pigeons
splashing in the putrid waters.
...
Si muero
Dejad el balcón abierto
El niño come naranjas
...
Never let me lose the marvel
of your statue-like eyes, or the accent
the solitary rose of your breath
places on my cheek at night.
...
Each afternoon in Granada,
each afternoon, a child dies.
Each afternoon the water sits down
and chats with its companions.
...
En la redonda
encrucijada,
seis doncellas
bailan.
...
Find them a conscience declared in
an absolute casual
sun, find them a feat
declared by the happy
...
Y que yo me la llevé al río
creyendo que era mozuela,
pero tenía marido.
Fue la noche de Santiago
...
Sobre el cielo
de las margaritas ando.
Yo imagino esta tarde
...