Al Qabri Ramos

 

I weave in the heat

of the station,

the longing,

of the damp thread of your gaze

With the intrepid cold

and ugly unraveling of the hours,

Burn my fingers with my cigarette

For this fever of not pausing it

As I write,

as if I could not pick up,

as if I lost you,

to you and to the damp thread of that gaze

to which I remain captive

and faithful,

I weave with tired fingers

chisel,

The length of the years

and the space that permeates

Your absence 

But you can't brake

Don't even brake,

The joy

Of the music you built

As if it were rain

lightening the asphalt, 

After the hot sun

Descend to the sea 

and the moon rise on high,

I weave love 

like Rapunzel,

while murmuring 

and celebrates

My madness in your apathy

carelessness,

abandonment

contempt, disdain,

petulance 

And they measure everything for me

On the corners of speech

easy, volatile, projectile

compare me to the mainstay

From your plastic age

of each of his making,

They try to mirror me

their ugliness and their gestures,

While I'm weaving you

and they measure me from a distance,

concomitantly

of a closed circumference

And I weave the mirror 

where your eyes rest

tonight

I weave the maturation 

From the close desire to the kiss I give you

In this fabric

current

What I fill us in

The paused decades

I weave you with open hands

The bent back

I weave your body, 

The figure

The exhausted profile of your face

your eyebrows,

and I bless the

pardon, pardon, 

I erase my disgust

of the finding

of handling 

having the effect

Children used by hands 

of astute adults, 

in a concrete complicity

that will be paid for up front,

to each one in his share,

but this woven poem covers you,

to you and me,

That I've already paid 

much more than I wove

That I already died more inside

than the hundred years 

that epic the century

than the garden

who vilified us.

I weave prayer on your lips,

I kneel you in prayer,

on the slab of the path,

I weave you with gold and parchments

I weave you the sweet memory 

Of affection 

Where the masks of others fall

where no hindrance

If you do it

to bring you to your destination,

My love

Slowly

I'm weaving love first

Love comes first

That spreads like honey

In the hive of words

of the queen bee. 

I'm weaving, my love,

with great care

Faith in this love

Who lay down beside me

since when I lost you,

hot liquid, 

the filings, 

I weave the wall

that your taste keeps me.

And sideways, 

My love, I lay down again

at the station, after you go out

cigarette, 

who dies in the ashtray, 

The ghost 

of the past,And I retain

In me, only in me

This fabric is already old

that I keep renewing

As the hourglass progresses

weaving a braid,

I fall asleep hugging what I weave

of you, 

on the hill I see you running,

Eternal child