martes, 1 de noviembre de 2011

                                Labranza                                                                           cuando
                                de la solitaria parcela                                          el ventisquero jala
                  
                                                                      el mudo corazón.




                                                                                
                                                                                 Lo
                                                                          que está al
                                                                  pensarse, por el jamás
                                                                 de un modo esencial, en
                                                                      la más inclemente
                                                                            cercanía.





                                                                         Copo, sobre
                                                                       copo, arrojado
                                                                       desde el cielo a
                                                                 nuestra escucha, alud de
                                                                         un liberar, mi
                                                                        calor: mortales.





                                     Yo vengo , yo                                                  duramente absuelto
                                      vengo, sabes                                                  de asilo y

                                                                               Señor.

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