La mañana

Pienso que fumo
y sueño que pienso
en la humareda voy quedando
ceniza entre los dedos de una diosa

To be a leaf

To be a leaf

(foto por: Matias Rivera-Garza)

The beggar kneeled down to pick up a sheet of paper
leaf of an open book on the other side of the street
it speaks to him in another irreverent tongue of wind
and dust covered by a speck of light and breeze

He understands and sits in the Quai, puts down his
sign, he now needs no more coins but silence brought
to him by the river behind him, river of childhood
river of the streets and its teachings summed up

I am the beggar you’re it too a note keeps
repeating itself in the ear, pum pum pum pum
kneel down as well and pick up a pebble pick up
a grain of salt or sand written in the book of your

winter eyes shiver of delight when you can see
that which has been shouting, that that has been clear
all the time and all along the river bank, pick yourself up
and talk to him, beggar in mink, beggar in ironed jeans

homeland of the dead conjured in the light of day
market of those who no longer dare to dream
I dread the day you will no longer remember Who
or What you were or are beggar beg a price

wind tongue and dust to cover you as the sun burns
down into the sea of the time past, of your trail
in the tree shadow book of water flowing downward
the beggar’s way, draw up your stench, it is the only

way to be remembered, dismembered by the rest
find a bridge to carry you over those troubled streets
You’re carried by the soft blow, you rise and fall
untill the beggar picks you up and puts you inside his coat.

L'endroit et plus

dans le XVIIeme...