A man writes the word bird,
hear the music he writes:
a gurgle in his mind, few perfect grades.
The bird is a world that is sufficient unto itself.
understand that and never find the secret
the tiny be aware that possesses
impossible to bring together the music of a verse
captaz so perfect for catching up to twitter.
The song is dispersed through the air early,
he feels that the poem is like a cage,
why bird and just write write.
But then he notes: fragile, wrapped in silence
sister words, the fragile multiplied.
If the song echoes the cage traps is infinite.
Roberto Malatesta (Santa Fe, 1961), 's nothing we saw , Ediciones UNL, 2010.
0 comments:
Post a Comment