IN THE DARK

Men troubled by their little betrayals,
men who abandon themselves in insomnia,
men, loose flags
and ephemera who aspire to marble,
I hardly know them.
The heart saddened by inhabitants of justice
put to the knife,
constant cedars, the landscape of nostalgia
flattering driven into despair,
I hardly know them.
Bust of young woman, my subversion is to call you.
Prodigal wall, what truth oppresses your urgency?
When you descend, bodies are door knockers,
and by precept of love bodies make their way into silence.
Bust of young woman diluted in the wake,
my thoughts are sour and exalt.
Find me, encircle me in everything I hardly know,
I will not return.