1

In the wide courtyard of our house
a child not even nine yet
tossed some wheat on the earth
sprouting cities of hunger.


2

It is not what you now pay
as price of pure drink
But it is the beginning of the abundant rain
the beginning of counterfeit
the beginning of trade
and the beginning of the end that might settle in the mind
where the earth falls in the palm – empty.


3

He waited for the caravan
so when it did not arrive
he turned twice to the right and the left
resting his arms
emptying the sadness of the two earths
in the empty rivers of the heavens.



4

When I finished writing the letters
she asked me
could my word
return to me my traveling face
and her luminous countenance in my blood?
My sadness answered:
I am unable with your blood
to give an answer
or to revere the ancestors.


5

Beneath the weight of a strange replay
I stand
my eyes open its doors
to the nearby morning
I see in the courtyard of the house two things:
my darkness
and the sad trees that are my height
trying to escape
out of exhaustion
it fixed its trunk in my room
spreading its leaves to my window
and planting its fruit the books.