Again life and death mingle
as in the backyard
input
carts with noise in the bucket well.
Again the sky reminds
hate lightning injury,
and almond not want to think
in his black roots.
The silence can no longer be my language,
but only find those words
unrealistic that they go dead the stars and ants,
and my memory away the love and joy
as the light of a jug of water thrown
uselessly against the darkness.
Again only hear the crackling
unquenchable
rain that falls and fall without knowing why
similar to lonely elderly continues
weaving and weaving;
and wants to flee to a town where
spin stops spinning yet
waiting for me to pick, but
where they put their feet
roads disappear,
and it is better to stay still in this room
so maybe now is the end of the world,
and rain is the sterile echoed that view,
a song I try to remember
lips are cracking under the earth.
Jorge Teillier
