sometimes it's not that simple
drop and run
because the heart made a bud, sank deep roots,
I love gram by gram the land where he grew up and has his
aquifer memory meat, swamp smell,
and it is not pleasant or light to stop feeling
on his tenacious nerves
the love he feeds on so as not to become an idiot,
arrogant and start the slow and inexorable country where you don't dream.
then he benches the stones and tolerates the poison
and the heart bites the skin of the soul to lose weight
and smile in the middle of the desert.
because he loves the little water that comes down from the hill too much
touch the spirited heartbeat.