Alma Nua

Oh, Father
Do not let them make of me
What from stone You made
And may the cold light of reason
Not silence the blue of the aura that clothes me

Give me lightness in my hands
Make me a noble tamer
Lassoing chords and verses
Scattered in time
For the temple of love

If I have to be naked
I will wrap myself in pure poetry
And from it I will make my home, my wing
Madness of each day
Give me the silence of the night
To hear the frog court the moon
Give me the right to the lash
To idleness, to heat
To loitering in the street

Let me lose track of time
To have time to find the rhyme
See the world from the inside out
And the beauty that blooms from bottom to top

Oh my Father, give me the right
To say things without meaning
To not have to be perfect
Past tense, subject, definite article

To fall in love every day
And be younger than my son
To learn from him
The magic of never losing the shine

To turn the dice of destiny
To contradict myself, to have no goal
To reinvent myself, to be my own god
To live as a child, to die as a poet