A Donde Diablos?
Alberto Cortez
Where the Hell?
Where the hell
have I put the verses I had
unfinished, still on my table
even if they were only five or six words?
Where the hell?
It's my fault!
even though there are many to talk about the same subject
they were the rightful inhabitants of the poem
that I write for you every day,
it's my fault!
They have gone missing
maybe when they saw they were metaphors in heat
it was their smile, a swallow in full flight
that stealthily took my notes away.
What the hell am I saying?
if just by opening a window
and seeing the sun shining in your hair
my forgetfulness quickly returns from oblivion,
what the hell am I saying?
To name you
I prefer to use my heart over the dictionary
because it has always kept inventory
of so many things I usually compare you to
to name you.
Simply
I call you moon, jingle bell, or seashell
and you already have me at the crest of the wave
searching for you in the transparent spaces.
But..., what the hell!
if you are the sail that pushes me into open sea
you are the debit and credit of my successes
you are the exact dimension of my altarpieces,
but..., what the hell!
Adrift
if I couldn't take refuge in your gaze
my reason would sail uncontrolled
adrift, without a rudder, adrift.
It would be a miracle
if I found those verses I had
unfinished still on my table.
Where the hell could they be?, where the hell?
