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The sky releases its cluster,
weaving silence
over the sand that harvests the sea,
and you no longer exist.
No one saw you leave;
only the carpentry of water,
blow by blow, attended the funeral of your feet
and, biting, the ocean swallowed your skeleton.
Under the carboniferous imagination
of the night,
among the smoke of obscure huts,
the people, in their soliloquy, lament,
look for your absence, say goodbye, and then they sleep.
You agitate the repose of
everything that is immobile
with the sonority of your death,
like the water that loses its teeth among the rocks
and then marches away with its army, singing. |
