Pablo

I met you tearing open the chest
Of death one day.
You knew nothing
And it was you who carried her
By the hand, by the hand.

And so you will continue without noticing
Your advantage
That it is you who carries her,
Who tames and shrouds her.
Walking, walking.

You are a space that becomes
Without thorns and that gets lost
In the joy of becoming.
But now your voice is fading,
Your hand is already engraving
A whole name with its teeth.

Anyone who has not seen sadness
With its four thousand heads
Can hear you with ease.
Anyone who has not loved deeply
And lived with the strange
Of this time without backwaters.

I met you stuck on the wall
Of the sky one day.
You were carrying then
Under your arm a country girl
And walking, walking.