Sleeping galaxy

Within this poem that love
It has built,
You and I live like Eskimos,
like two castaways biting the surviving part
of a ship whose bow was dislocated by the sun,
love, we live in this poem as in a
ravine embroidered with rain,
We sometimes go out in search of birds to eat
or we beat the cane in the night water
we watch the hook kiss the mouth of the
fish, the white bear sniffs the air because he,
Like me, he guesses you in the wind, which shoes your feet, the fire senses, the same light that
slim and expand your sex like a
sleeping galaxy
in the palate of life. The bear and I look for you at noon,
We both watch you and breathe the snow and the
mud where you step to eat the root where
Your blood distilled its urgency.
In this poem we live
like inside a stone bull,
as if death did not exist or as if
the rain did not know how to tear away our souls
hammer blows Centuries ago love brought you
as the sea brings remains of a shipwreck.
In this sand we sit
waiting for the bear or the weather
undress us and resume once again
this game of tenderness and scars,
this greed of shadows,
this devious hunt for Eskimos.

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A veces leo.

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