Small Elegy for Enrique

And to all the men
of this land
I entrust with you
a sweet name
that dawned with death,
this morning.

Each thing has
a side in the shade.
I do not want to consider lost
its obscured profile.
The commonplace has no place
in this story.
If there were the missed meeting
I am here,
I am wherever you want
to be here.
The vertical that sharpens itself
and so deep already, that roots
now more than ever
must be able to
plow back the wind.

It is this way the story ends.
It happened that you couldn't take any more.
I don't know if eternity begins
to bother your body --
5 days have gone by.
I don't know if your face
is already crumbling in its wake.
Imperative, time has positioned us
for a final farewell.
Don't let them stick me in the exit!

I can taste the air in motion,
each hope placed in the ozone,
I can sift slowly through
a great oblivion,
beating the wind
its face of dew.
But I cannot add one day of life
to that of its death.
There, in that new connection,
what things can be done that I cannot do?

Everything fogged up on Sunday.
Thus we went, carefully
to leave it with its ghosts
and a black well rising
from the heart into the temples.
The rest have not learned how to share
time -- comrade of oblivion.
If I can't,

Who do you want me to be?
More vibration without your sound...?
Your shape lost itself in this fog
and, alone, I lost you.
They covered it with forgetfulness
of yesterday, cut in the afternoon.
Even for the glowworm, the light ran out!
I could not be the night
to fold you in wings,
not even to be a witness
still in this wave.
I want to know
if eternity recovers, drop by drop,
the well of your mouth.
I want to know if the water that still
drives itself between your veins
will navigate with me, being river.
If the solution does not present itself,
Let time intervene!
I will jump over any wall
questioning those above
by the sinister orphanhood
or will I be so alone
an echo
that reverberates in each rock.
I know that exactly
nothing happens.
There is a rock without dew,
that does not sprout for anyone.
With my weeping
the antennas of the north wind
do not stray one bit

from their cardinal direction, my old friend.
Later, simply ahead of your entrance
the blood was cut with light.
Your breath, your friend, the wind,
ended the circumstance.
Your bones, the breath
and the truths
you were to discover
were lost.