There is urgent business with the rose,

maybe I know little or nothing about flowers,
there may be more delicate or fragrant ones,
but none resembles
my blood as much as the rose does,
when I pass by a house
and in the garden next to the sidewalk
I see a rose bush, it is a brother that I see,
and I stop as if to embrace
an old friend that I have not seen for a long time, earth runs through my blood
that will return to the earth
and return to the air, I am a rose of the air,
and I have foam of a she-wolf in my entrails,
I let my eyes fall on the windows
that eat the blue humus of the storm,
I let the spines touch me
and I writhe with pleasure when I see
a watering can, I walk through this land
of evil and good people, I am a
rose man, I write with my tongue and I think with
my mouth. I wait and do not wait for the hour when
the last petal of my pink body will burn in silence.