Glass Fields
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Glass chessboard
is a bridge across the mountain river.
I carry you in my arms over transparent fields
and carefully choose the places I step on.
A game with destiny where everything is slippery
like driving down the fern-wooded hills.
The dance of minds builds moves;
and our result must be the one.
You feed me solemnly, with measured strokes;
and your attention simply bites the soul.
*
The road closed by the cliffs of the gorge above us
that falls a hundred meters
deep down to the cold river.
Growing up in narrow streets
that define a worldview
and where to be recognized as an equal
has the price of blood on the hands
and excavates meat on the palms.
*
Pain is hidden deep,
waiting for its nights,
they are wet and salty
what tempers your armor steel.
You walk beside men and women,
strong and fragile, proud and sensual,
only with a smile for all players
to whom you yield games as a ploy for the ego.
*
You explained the city’s structure to me;
and you showed the side of the river where the heart lies.
Awakened by the heat of coffee and dark eyes,
I disappear in your arms
with a face on the navel of honey.
You wrap my body in vine leaves
to remove the ghost of the terrible past.
On the Table is a story about children without childhood
with the taste of bread and wine.
*
On the dark side of town,
a small restaurant on a stone street
serves food from exotic places.
We are eating candy
in honor of the rebirth of the radiant soul
while she runs across the bridge smiling.
In the embrace where the game begins
, I lose myself looking for your cry of victory.
Our liberation concept
is contained in the five roses
and forever casts away all pain.
— — -# — — -
