37 º 10 '49 "N
Discover the creek between the rocks from
scraps of wood.
Unleashing the archway of my thoughts.
unfettered to the poor. Save
poetry in my threadbare pockets.
Start the heath the way barefoot.
bathe in the marsh at sunset. Amar
each branch of clubs trailing,
each field of sunflowers dead
snuff every half moon in planting.
Play
dictation
rightly held by the dried stigmas,
agrestre each fingerprint, each den full of bugs
night sleeping between the broken bells.
ascending to head the day before yesterday watered
to jam black cobwebs abbeys,
sincere to shit once
to sing the ballad of
bleating of goats and sheep numb blind
as a lullaby,
itself important truth at last .
Cross from the hand of twilight
fear.
Throw me to the mountain
ahead and behind.
note with the soul of a miner
the ravines of life.
LLUÍS PONS MORA
anapmares@gmail.com 
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