as I saw you

like trees.
we rise against the sky.
whether it is blue as only he can.
whether leaden.

as the rainy day of first fruits.

with quick and serious gestures.
I foresaw, like a stillborn baby,
the world of madness and cruelty,
which is approaching quickly and inevitably,
solitude of those who love us madly
like the fleeting mothers of the evening
full of madness and love
as clever as only they imagine possible
and whose certainty we try to contradict.

heavenly and pleasant firmament
Will you call me tomorrow? Who knows?
not me, who am enough to be able to be more,
that I'm the angry hunger of poets
against the imagined occult magic of the annals
favorable to the morning freshness of fast apples
thought of the impossible
confirmation of death that to all belongs
glimpse of the nonexistent tomorrow
and who knows the beginning of the unprecedented
certainty of the entire cosmos.

the simple beauty of a dandelion,
by the wind carried to uncertain places,
where it dances, carried by the light breeze of the treetops.