Bridge. Poem by Pablo Saborio

The surface of the lake
was bruised
with a darkness
that could not have been borrowed.

It was a patch of tense
turbulent essence,
emerging from the common ripples.

It was a particularly indecent
display of profundity,
being a nude example of universe.

The days where speed makes a string
uncoiling in a vacuum
enveloped by place.

It was strange
that no cloud
gravitated toward the opening phenomena.

It was then that I began thinking
of death;
to no longer locate myself

in the affairs that confuse.