COME YESTERDAY afternoon going to die. On the way
acacia flower
dissolves in the wind. Among the branches,
deadly, almost vibrant
is the last sun. The earth smells,
starts to smell, and can not be
within itself and rises:
now no land on earth and in the air.
And there's a sunny Bardal, until he arrived;
shadow is the summary of the afternoon. I've been
mourn. Do not know who to cry. A distant smoke
-perhaps a train again, while saying:
I'm your pain, let me love you. Poem
Landscapes LUIS ROSALES
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