Plenos Poderes

I write in the blazing sun, out on the street,
by the open sea, where I can sing,
the wandering night is the only thing that stops me
but in its interruption, I gather space,
I gather shadows for a long time.

The black wheat of the night grows
as my eyes measure the prairie
and from sun to sun, I make the keys:
I search in the darkness for the locks
and I’m opening the broken doors to the sea
until I fill cabinets with foam.

And I never get tired of going back and forth;
death doesn’t stop me with its stone,
I never get tired of being and not being.

Sometimes I wonder where it comes from,
whether from my father or mother or the mountains,
if I inherited these mineral duties,

the threads of a blazing ocean
and I know I keep going because I keep going
and I sing because I sing and because I sing.

What happens has no explanation
when I close my eyes and drift
like between two underwater channels,
one takes me to die in its branches
and the other sings so I can sing.

So, in this state of non-being, I’m composed
and like the sea assaults the reef
with salty capsules of whiteness
and captures the stone with the wave,
so what surrounds me in death
opens in me the window to life
and in full ecstasy, I’m sleeping.
In broad daylight, I walk through the shadows.