País

The strong heat of your hands burns my ports
...hidden jasmine
of this country that I carry a mix of oxen
...of sure sun!

Light that your years of mountain range carry
...of naked sea
this root of dawn fury of sky
...of tough belly!

That pain we were,
looking for graves
always looking for graves
in spring
due to your spring
our gaze
is more fruitful!

Flower of your salty flower, copper nail,
... lonely shore
where the rivers kiss, your blood calls,
... your voice delays!

Skin of your blaze valley of bones,
... with red table,
where the children look, and hunger bites,
the broken chair!