Cuerpo de Ola

You're already twenty years old,
wave body,
and your father doesn't want you to go out alone.

You have salt in your eyes,
thirst in your belly,
shells of shadow
and warm wheat.

Men court you along the paths
and your father doesn't want you to talk to them;
a night of fire and black trees
your father couldn't
your father couldn't
kill his jealousy.

In the moonless night tremors of dawn
will draw their kisses on your bed.
Blood sleigh bells, silver fish
carol for your silk and mother-of-pearl body.

Since then poppies already grow in your voice
and your father doesn't want you to sleep alone.
You're already twenty years old, wave body,
and your father doesn't want you to go out alone.