with you I learn to read sauteed
to go from gay science to Don Quixote
to prowl the palaces of arabia with
an eye on whitman's engines,
and from landlords to normandy in catapults
surprise eggs, and I'm reading the script and
soon a dinosaur or a mister papa
or a seed or a barny invades me
book and in the middle of Monte Cristo flies a
heroes in pajamas. and out of nowhere you sit down
next door and you tell me that now we have to read
the monster in the window or the three little pigs,
and one reads sauteed as a red hood
interprets perón's positions during
the Cold War. and the books remain
scattered and the discovery of
a rock work on its margins with
unmistakable traces of your tempera,
pencils and happy faces