PATHS OF THE MIRROR
I
1
And above all gazing with innocence. As if nothing were happening, which is true.
24
II
1
But I want to look at you until your face moves far from my fear like a bird on the sharp edge of night.
28
III
1
Like a little girl drawn with pink chalk on an ancient wall suddenly erased by the rain.
22
IV
1
Like when a flower opens up and reveals the heart it doesn’t have.
18
V
0
All the gestures of my body and my voice to make an offering out of me, the branch that leaves the wind on the threshold.
31
VI
1
Cover the memory of your face with the mask of the one you’ll be and frighten the little girl that you were.
29
VII
1
Their shared night dispersed with the fog. It’s the season of cold nourishment.
19
VIII
1
And thirst, my memory is of thirst, I below, in the bottom, in the well, I would drink, I remember.
24
IX
1
To fall like a wounded animal in the place that was going to be revelatory.
23
X
0
Like someone who doesn’t want something. Not a thing.
14
Sewn mouth. Sewn eyelids. I forgot. Inside, the wind.
14
Everything closed and the wind inside.
11
XI
1
Words turned golden in the black sun of silence.
13
XII
1
But silence is certain. That’s why I write. I’m alone and I write.
19
No, I’m not alone. There’s someone here who trembles.
16
XIII
1
Even if I say sun and moon and star I refer to things that happen to me.
20
And what did I want?
5
I wanted the perfect silence.
9
That’s why I speak.
3
XIV
1
Night takes the form of a wolf’s howl.
9
XV
0
The pleasure of getting lost in the premonitory image. I arose from my corpse, I went looking for who I am. Wanderer from myself, I’ve gone towards she who sleeps in a country to the wind.
52
XVI
1
My endless fall into my endless fall where nobody awaited me, since upon seeing who was waiting I saw none other than myself.
33
XVII
1
Something was falling in the silence. My last word was I but I was referring to the luminous dawn.
27
XVIII
1
Yellow flowers in a circular constellation of blue earth. The wind-filled water quakes.
24
XIX
1
Glare of the day, yellow birds in the morning. A hand unleashes
17
darkness, a hand drags the hair of a drowned woman who doesn’t cease
17
passing by the mirror. To return to the memory of the body, I have to
19
return to my grieving bones, I have to understand what my voice says.
18
Análisis métrico
47
Versos
12.2
Media silábica
574
Sílabas totales