The flesh of the day

is opened to us sensual

under a sky that shines,

a life that burns

and that behind the mountains

throws its verses in flames

toward the night.



The life is a bread that we devour

and that grows generous since its bark

toward inside.

The life is a sensual bread

that makes us to kiss

slowly

since its gummy breasts

since its journey through the slopes

when the evening falls

like a bride to which someone wounds

a minute before her wedding.



Now

the crumb of the night rocks us

and the insects smell my sex

as an enormous,

kind animal

under the endless tongues of the stars.



© Gocho Bersolari

Translation: Maria Eugenia Caseiro