You Were Not Brief In My Night Poem by Carlos Ramos

You were not brief in my night
nor tangible like the white sparks of the poem
the abyss where it slips freely
is the bird of intense things
wind engine
the moment.

I am a stranger to the ordinary happiness of men
i twist the words
punish the body of the poem
and I dance generally when I write
show everyday hands
open flower orchids on the sheet of the dream
or clouds sitting at the door of the moments

small miracles
hauntings for a body
that someone has to find in the right position
a window with a heart facing the sea
the house inside
and a music door
to open and close without thinking about it.

Nothing has changed about the arcana of time
in the saliva with which the last kiss is killed
I see the ruins of the man brief
on the first cat
that bounces on the shoulders of dawn.