Poesías del nuevo siglo 403

The highest dune

I walk in this grieved evening

and my shadow gets longer with your memory.

I draw apart from an irreverent crowd

and head toward my dreams.

Infinite horizon, humid from sea battles

with scent of seaweeds that stick on to barefoot toes

and spring me to the ground.

My feet get wet and slip on broken shells

that scream your name (what is your name?)

staring up clouds of dark sand

whipping my back.

Blue pine groves draw against a clear sky

battalions of soldiers armed with perfumed needles

that against a golden leader send

a cry of Victory

(Your name, one and another time your quiet name).

Without realizing

I sink until hurting my knees

in a sand that tries to stop me

with whirlwinds of hysterical truths

I touch the top of your smile.

Savoring before our time

I imagine your relaxed silhouette.

Ask your name to drink the bareness of the sand?

Impossible.

You would never be more than this moment,

infinitely delicious,

salty like the wind that brought me toward you.

An eternal instant burning our passenger souls.

I move away from you, irreverent,

and head toward my dreams.

                                                                            
    F.S.

                                                                            
    Orense 15 de enero '09

                                                                            
    www.casabal.com

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