BELIEF Poem by Fernando Linero

One must have a high belief
to follow on the way of the hours
with a black sun swooping implacable.
How to fill something up to the brink
when at the will of the flies
death dances drunkenly
and cold throws out the live coals from the hearth
and the spells disappear
as well as the high grass full of innocence?
One must have a high belief
to fill up something to the brink
when we're only left with cynicism.
Perhaps the buzz of an insect
in the meager flight of daily life.