Glass Fields

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Glass chessboard

is a bridge across the mountain river.

I carry you in my arms over transparent fields

and carefully choose the places I step on.

A game with destiny where everything is slippery

like driving down the fern-wooded hills.

The dance of minds builds moves; 

and our result must be the one.

You feed me solemnly, with measured strokes;

and your attention simply bites the soul.

*

The road closed by the cliffs of the gorge above us

that falls a hundred meters

deep down to the cold river.

Growing up in narrow streets

that define a worldview

and where to be recognized as an equal

has the price of blood on the hands

and excavates meat on the palms.

*

Pain is hidden deep, 

waiting for its nights,

they are wet and salty

what tempers your armor steel.

You walk beside men and women,

strong and fragile, proud and sensual,

only with a smile for all players

to whom you yield games as a ploy for the ego.

*

You explained the city's structure to me;

and you showed the side of the river where the heart lies.

Awakened by the heat of coffee and dark eyes,

I disappear in your arms

with a face on the navel of honey.

You wrap my body in vine leaves

to remove the ghost of the terrible past.

On the Table is a story about children without childhood

with the taste of bread and wine.

*

On the dark side of town,

a small restaurant on a stone street

serves food from exotic places.

We are eating candy

in honor of the rebirth of the radiant soul

while she runs across the bridge smiling.

In the embrace where the game begins

, I lose myself looking for your cry of victory.

Our liberation concept

is contained in the five roses

and forever casts away all pain.

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