Speak to me
Speak to me heart
I feel a needing
to bridge the clouds
Softly go
A way I wish to know
A way I wish to know

Oh you’ll ride
Surely dance
In a ring
Backwards and forwards
Those who seek
feel the glow
A glow we all will know
A glow we will all know

Rise up hold the reins
We’ll meet again I don’t know when
Hold tight bye bye
Paths that cross
will cross again
Paths that cross
Will cross again

(the direct translation from Spanish would be Dead Nature -Naturaleza Muerta, which I think would be more accurate in this case)

I walk through the streets with my antelope’s bag

and my goat’s wallet

and my bull’s shoes

and I wear a red shirt tinted with achiote.

All my clothes have been washed at a secret river with  a rose’s soap.

On my paper sheets an old forest rumbles,

and at times I feel like the snake of my belt is waking up.

And there are traces of chlorophyll in my teeth.

I write with charcoals from a willow.

And I wonder what part of the landscape I am.

A letter on my way to Wales (fragment)

In this place, anger and rage grow simultaneously,

you do not know what it is like to live in a country

like and old animal preserved

in the most varied alcohols

you do not know what it is like to live

among yesterday’s moons,  dead ones and disventures.