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Tu Mira - Edit

de Luis Bacalov

Leaning into the afternoons,
I cast my sad nets towards your oceanic eyes.
There, in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames;
its arms turning like a drowning man?s.
I send out red signals across your absent eyes
that wave like the sea, or the beach by a lighthouse.
You keep only darkness my distant female;
from your regard sometimes, the coast of dread emerges.

Leaning into the afternoons,
I fling my sad nets to that sea that is thrashed
by your oceanic eyes.
The birds of night peck at the first stars
that flash like my soul when I love you.
The night, gallops on its shadowy mare,
Shedding blue tassels over the land.

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