When you no longer have
my head on your chest
I don't want you to think of me
with tears or frowns.
Leave behind the cold tombstone
lying in the ground,
and go back to the house
to go on living.
The rub of the sugar cane
in its smooth purring
will revive in your ear
with my tremulous accent
the possibility of being together
(lost in time)
there where life
converses with the dead.
Although you won't see me
perhaps you'll be able to do it.