All in a place of fealty let off of monsters,
Kissing though breathless like
Deep purple lilies,
Like a brother and a sister who never knew,
And a sword that sang up through the jungles
And eucatrastrophes,
Every teardropp of a waterfall that hummed until
The blood has stopped weeping
From the wound,
And the body laid empty, like cenotaph,
Like tomb;
And the night around the school buses caracoled
While the mountains rose up
The oldest of old,
And the murder underneath the rose thorns was
Never solved,
I just looked up into your eyes until I saw that she did
Not love me,
She did not love me, even though she kept her brown
Hours around my ghostly town,
Like the ghosts of sailors who finally laid up against
The whitewash of a lighthouse:
Their souls, their almas no longer safe, but restless,
As if they were the butterflies courting back to Mexico;
Or even after that:
Who knows where they were bound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem