La Pieza de Mi Amigo

To my friend Cacho with all the respect and affection I have
My friend's room, my friend's room
slapped my face with a cold snap
that rolled across the table and stayed with me
to leave me alone in an empty century
with meaningless words that fold if I continue
and go straight if I seek a detour.
My friend's room
hit me on the head with its pine wall
twisted my forehead from behind oblivion
and soaked me with wind through a crack,
with very high perfumes and trill leaks
like a garden of clouds and blooming sun.
A very large bed
for the forever born son of those times
when the world was a child
and a small bed with empty straps
where his bones sleep with trembling affection

A round joy squeezed with boredom
like a humble phrase escaping from a book
flies after a mouth to tear it from the cold
to be born slowly even though it has already been born.
My friend's room
has a thread of thread where a suit hangs,
a gavan and a sigh, a white dove with a frayed neck
and some loose patch that conveys retirement.
A new desk he exchanged for work,
a black Remington lent by a friend
a love verse for a flower branch
shown in a photo under glass
My friend's room is the color of time,
half gray, half green or maybe transparent
everything is a bird with the nest changed
resigns to stay and suddenly flies.
My friend's room tastes like onion
coming from the bottom of an aluminum pot
they are very high perfumes because they are sacrifices
with trill leaks and trembling affection.
There is a sealed envelope in the middle of vice
with no destination out or back
a blank page without fear of waste
and a white dove frayed but free.