Liquid Soul

In memory of Pablo Neruda.


I am expended and done in consistence;
was subjected to the vicissitudes
of carnal existence,
relented to the servitude
of mortal obligations;
I stand before Thee
drenched
in colors
of Thy macrocosm.
Ethereal music is mute.
Divine utopia, shelled
by precipitated prurience
uncouth,
rests tattered -
her virginity, her youth
stolen
by her detractor.
I loath
another golden cage -
a walk under white sun,
elysian fruits,
leafy glade.
I wish to rest in crimson oceans,
and strike brightness
on unquiet stones.