No one understood the perfume
of the dark magnolia of your womb.
Nobody knew that you tormented
a hummingbird of love between your teeth.
...
A tree of blood soaks the morning
where the newborn woman groans.
Her voice leaves glass in the wound
and on the panes, a diagram of bone.
...
Dawn in New York has
four columns of mire
and a hurricane of black pigeons
splashing in the putrid waters.
...
Si muero
Dejad el balcón abierto
El niño come naranjas
...
Each afternoon in Granada,
each afternoon, a child dies.
Each afternoon the water sits down
and chats with its companions.
...
En la redonda
encrucijada,
seis doncellas
bailan.
...
Find them a conscience declared in
an absolute casual
sun, find them a feat
declared by the happy
...
Y que yo me la llevé al río
creyendo que era mozuela,
pero tenía marido.
Fue la noche de Santiago
...
Never let me lose the marvel
of your statue-like eyes, or the accent
the solitary rose of your breath
places on my cheek at night.
...
Sobre el cielo
de las margaritas ando.
Yo imagino esta tarde
...