Quicklime and hands tied.
Night which was my grave: a voice
clicks.
And time
reverberates in the glass of a clock. Nothing
move their wings but that purity indefinite
in ink and pastels,
in the mess of books. Submission
! Submersion!
A color
estridente
turn an idea como loca y
if separate tiempo.
Quicklime and hands tied.
Night which was my grave:
an entry a breeze.
Reverb time in the glass of a clock.
Nothing moves its wings, just a purity
indefinite
ink and pastel
disorder in the books.
Presentation! Drowning! A striking color
around like a crazy idea
away by time.
[free translation of Cipressino]
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