Your lips, delicate as poetry,
turn the most voluptuous kiss
into such a coyness
that the cave animal uses it
to become human.
And your cheeks, with two oblique lines,
that lead your pride
and my destiny
I who have endured the night
without being armed
in anticipation of the dawn
and have brought back
a proud virginity,
sealed
from the brothels of barter.
(Never did a man so ruinously rise
to kill himself
as I settled the task of living)
And your eyes are the secret of fire
and your love
is the victory of man
when he rushes to battle against his fate.
And your bosom
a tiny place to live
a tiny place to die
and an escape
from the city
that accuses the purity of the sky
shamelessly with a thousand fingers.
A mountain begins with its first rocks
and man with the first pain
in me, there was a cruel prisoner
not used to the clanking of his chains
I began with your first glance.
Tempests play magnificently
a tiny flute
in your grand dance.
And the singing of your veins
makes the sun of the always rise.
(Let me rise from sleep so
that all the lanes of the city
perceive my presence.)
Your hands are reconciliation
and friends helping that hostilities
may be forgotten.
Your forehead is a tall mirror
luminous and high
in which the Seven Sisters stare
to realize their beauty.
Two restless birds sing on your chest
from which direction will the summer arrive
so thirst will make
all the waters
even wholesomer?
That you may appear in the mirror
a life-long I kept
staring at it
all the lakes and the seas
I wept.
O Fairy in human form
whose body would not burn
except in the fire of illusion
your presence is a paradise
justifying escape from hell
it is an ocean overwhelming me
to wash me clean
of every lie
and of every sin.
And the dawn awakens by your hands.