Towards the future I go broadly speaking Poem by Carlos Obregón

Towards the future I go broadly speaking
with the smoke of the sun and the seagulls.
The night twists another bend
and an implausible moon is dying
like a white charm that stalks me.
On the pier a bell withdraws
with a double lament of distance
that spreads sea wings on the eyes.
The flower migrates and is ill.
Night shimmers in the waves
leaving in the ears
its vigil of stars and poppies.
From oblivion comes up to the lips
a dim smell of clods and cereal pollen.
The summer bites the most remote fruits
and a horse's eye looks at them and covets them.

So much world without body or inhabitant,
so many mortal footsteps tonight.