II

When I bring my ear to your neck
              —as one listens to the sea—
one hears love. I do not know if the wind,
that animal that whistles in your veins,
knows the terrible region where it calls,
the old cliff that exists behind its voices.
But the aquatic light comes to us
more somber each time,
full of guarded loneliness,
with the smell of grass that marks all drowned people.

When your heart is a timekeeper
entangled in mine
and rhythmically
we are naked ships that sink,
when the surface
lasts for only a second,
mermaids tell us we have disappeared.

The metro too whistles below the sea.
One hears love at your neck.
The sunken city awaits us.