Cuervo
There is one other night by the day begins.
A profile other night,
next to the pool. His eye
is the vanishing point of the garden, its silhouette is
Chinese shadow on the wall, gates
caged by the reflection of the water tremble.
A profile other night
disheveled dolls around noon. And suddenly
fanning the air that contains
and cicadas are silent a moment.
There is also a girl,
is lying in the sun on the grass.
And there is a profile other night,
maybe (if you leave) would kiss his eyes.
But she sleeps,
of when the crow is a bird.
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