Ella tuvo ojos de mar

pequeños charcos
de donde zarpaban veleros

con boca de sal y amarras

mis sueños a sus pies
dentro de su vientre

Yo nunca le pedí que se fuera

me dijo adiós una noche de Julio
una noche ciega y como el verano
dormida

Su piel era blanca
como la espuma que deja naufragios
en la costa

como la espuma que no sientes marchar
entre tus pies

Ella era sí misma
magistral
soberbia

un territorio en donde yo
sembraba palabras
y recogía oraciones escondidas en el huerto.

Ella era muchacha
toda ella
y yo jamás le pedí que se fuera.

When I write I carry out a trick.
Sometimes.
Some other times nothing happens.

You run through the words with your eyes
the quiet night
and I’m not there
you rest in the couch
rest in your own exhaustion
after the long day
you read my words
and move your lips
following my thoughts

suddenly

something strikes you
you open your eyes wide
and whisper that phrase

one
I don’t know which one

the one that touches you
the one in which you recognize yourself
the one that binds us
the one in which you realize we are not so different

I wove an idea

and you found me

you whisper it
whisper me

only the night listens to you
and I steal a part of your soul.

I'll wake up
in your Silence
standing at the edge of my sleep
in a night of rain
a window of storm
on open doors
in corners lost in mist

I'll send you
the dawn that crawls up my skin
all the secrets in my clothes
my arms to ease your winter
and calm made of water in the bath

I'll wake up inside your chest
or you inside mine
in the memories
of your skin made of snow
in the hours I've kept between the walls

Someday Somehow
I'll give you
a forest to cover our night
a breeze to keep us near
and promises written on my hands

Today

send me
your laughter in the streets
memories of you
a brand new place to hide away

take from me
a whole new smile
a hundred words
a quiet world to walk back home

The Time Machine

It is interesting to re-discover the exquisite anguish presented by wells in the Time Machine. You could read the strange evolutionary theory presented by him in his bifurcation of the human race and be left underwhelmed. You could analyze the cheap psychologist tricks surrounding the mind of the time traveller, close the book and forget about the story.

His true genius comes at the closing pages of the book, when our time traveller decides to go to the edge of the world and discover the solitude of the being in the last sunset.

In this Wells followed Nietzsche and prophesied Sartre.

About facts and truth.

It isn’t the existence of facts, but the act of equating facts with truth, that undermines our capacity for wisdom.

God

She was here
and I was God

in a temple made of stone and silence
after the noise of the streets
of the cities
of the gestures

the silence
was like a prayer
in bed
between her legs

and the night
a sacrifice
in an altar made by men

to worship me

God in her arms
in her silence.

Absence

If you read this
away lost distant
know these are not words
but a soul
away
distant
lost too
near you
in your dreams of open windows
of free worlds
of absence
of laughing children in the shores
and smell of sand and ocean.

Today
now
touch this sentences
knowthat before writing to you
I was a blank page too
empty

and you come
in white memories
like breathing space
and make prose.

Not enough time has passed

this little poem
will lastuntil you open the door
saying my name
and open the windows of my body

arriving fresh
like wind
at night.