Impresiones de Agosto

Tar in the morning
A winter of smoke
On the ground a green handkerchief
Or a dead lettuce full of worms
And a newspaper wrapped around a fish
And a rickety scaffold
That gives off a smell of burnt tea
And a blind dog
With an old-child
Numbed

A burial
Without a shrouded corpse
With mourners crying
From pure memory
Up close a phonograph with eyes
It's a cat
What are these shoes doing
Without the men who walked in them?

And a scream
Makes me think that hope
Is tied up in those houses on the hill
Where one day will be born
A victorious poet

A broken bell
Rings beneath the ground
While a forgetful crowd
Buys remedies
Bread and talismans from a known thief

And I walk until I lose myself
With your face
In my pockets
And forgive me
That at this hour
I'm still not convinced
That the heart of salt
Is made of sugar

I return to my room
And I can't see my hands
It's shaking!