Sky and dreams share the same limitless screen.
So it has come to this:
That wasn’t love: that was
The child runs and sand
The ciclón remains, rumbling in the belly of a great boa constrictor. 66 The croaking lizard crawls out 29 The flash of familiar things 28 The head 151 The ink of my heart shows red and pours over the entire page – 11 The library is locked, but behind the grillwork windows 73 The long black line of livestock in a procession towards the slaughterhouse
The sun is a salt thing
The wild cat was prowling again last night.
There are days so long the sun
There is a field with no light.
There is one eye at the bottom of the ocean.
There were many days when it rained.
They knew the yard by the wooden Cross
They pressed him for his secret
This is a beg pardon
This is a poem that can’t get published – in the Caribbean –
This is the spot where the walls stood:
This time when she left you
To eat a guinep you must first crack the skin
To see him as he was is easy.
to the iron-board’s unconsidered flatness, praise
Watch for thieves prostrate in idolatrous covenants,
We going Country they said.
We open the earth what have the africans made here?
What María Lionza said:
When I get inside
When I hear you again
When the air is a sharpened blade,
Without the weight of what then seemed important,
You are dead
You ten, I six, and jujube
You will leave your home:
index of first lines