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Comments about Ricardo Stern
Waiting for something
like a life, the life, mi life, anything
resembling something more than only the wait.
Are heroes patient or impatient?
They are just, but tragedy awaits them.
I feel like a testy kid
when I go out to the backyard of my own past;
the leaves of its young oak have burgeoned in the last days.
And I feel inexact, openly inexact;
blurry, anciently blurry.
And I don´t ignore that Death leaves her secret,
goes back from her almost craved-for old hypocrisy,
without saying a word she spies me, touches the palisade, sighs,