Huge old stars leaning out of the
horizontal cobblestone sheets,
were dictated by an ancient manual of glorious epic forms
where I did not read the cunning locks,
from there fall lights like eagles
what they hang before your pale fortifications
and despite the fact that I descend without air
I cling to the dissected edges of this abyss
walking away from the waves of floral promises
with summer mentions that anoint you.
The amaranth silence rocks the star again
and like the silent lymph
you seek to break beyond the fundamental shell
the one that you came to know in a primitive way
in the sweet stays of belief.
Blows the hydrogen on the leaves
and many cycles are enough for oblivion,
while the trees stand
because they keep their memory in the roots,
to later give shelter to life
I am the extended earth,
I still have memories of that
Winter will come without you realizing it.
The specificity of the meander
winding secret of the air
like the grass with its distant star.
written and illustrated by ©Enrique De Santiago