Declensions of the Monologue

I am alone
completely alone

between my waist and my dress
alone with my entire voice

with a cargo of slight angels
like those caresses which collapse
alone through my fingers.

A confused child of sand
seeks a blue canoe
amid my floating hair.

He holds his tribes of scent
with a pale thread,

thirteen pilgrims rush
to my profile of rose
at the quietest corner of my eyelids.

II

I arch slightly over
my heart of stone and flower
to see it,

to wear my arteries and my voice
in a given moment

when someone arrives
and calls to me . . .

but now I don't wish to be called,
I fit in the voice of no one,
do not call,

because I'm descending to the depths of my meagerness
to the satisfied roots of my shadow,

because now I'm descending to the anguished
touch of a miner, carrying his half-open flower on his shoulder
and a big sign of love on his belt.

I descend further

into the immediacies of air

Hurriedly waiting for the letters of its name
to be born perfect and habitable

I descend even further,

Who shall find me?

I wear my arteries,
(what great haste I have)

I wear my arteries and my voice
I wear this heart of stone and flower,

so that in a given moment
when someone arrives

and calls to me

and not finding me
lightly arched over my heart, to see it,

I will not have to go and leave my great voice,

and my high heart
of stone and flower.