En Una Playa Calma

Like the man of the ice lurking in the darkness of a coniferous forest
I felt, I don't know why, anguish and loneliness that stormy morning.
That stormy morning. I looked at paintings that were closed doors, lying on a hotel divan
In a southern city, I don't know what year. maybe in ninety.
With myself, alone, and unable to give myself rest.
If I could have dropped anchor in the shelter of some calm beach.
In a blooming of winters far from the open sea, stranded with my back to the soul...
But the flight was so swift, the lure so changing, the battle so rapid...
The sun came out and it was worse. a black wind swirling the oleanders filled my spatial spirit
And it threw me to sail among aerolites through the window with curtains. through the window.
Like a man of the ice (a rudimentary bow and four arrows)
Encouraged by the inexplicable temptation of existence.
The sky clouded over again. like life. light, shadow, light.
With myself alone and unable to give myself rest.
At the edge of the forest lying in my melancholy installed as if forever.
And in the distance the yellow plain illuminated by a meager greenhouse sun.
On the asphalt, the city's clamor beating. on the asphalt I heard, hypnotic, your voice saying: don't keep suffering.