open their hands to receive the rice
They have fish in their spinal column that
They burned in the sea, burning algae and detached planks
of ships from other worlds,
agitated in the rogue vertigo of tenderness
They chew the grains with their gums because their teeth
They lost them in the mud, however if one looks at their
eyes, can't avoid the torch, the darkness, the months
drinking from the sour honeycomb of the word.
up to here the gray mole embedded in the silence,
From tomorrow, rice will be a painless musical instrument
we will burn the cities together,
We will open our hands to receive the adequate ration
to each of our corpses, and if love passed its hand,
spread the starving plate of the days,
We will invite you the blue fur of the sky, they are the filings
that make misfortune funny, the lip plaintive
who learned to laugh in the storm.