Since life is nothing in your philosophy, let’s drink to the fact of not being our bodies. Let's drink to the nothing of your sensual lips, which are sensual zeros in your blue kisses:
Before the sad years made homes in our bones, And our blood turned into riots, We hang our swelling breasts in the branches of mamma’s¹ morala tree, And we sang old gospels to the humans sleeping thick in our ribs, Yet to be born.
You improve the value of the habitat Intensifying from dawn your love for plants and flowers intending to provide a solution to the Environmental footprint capturing the carbon of the earth and the peace that the flora provides you
my son stands in waist-high water the salt reddens his skin out of his face spring wiry hairs thickening to a beard his arms have become wide and heavy
Virgin, the New World’s sweet pride and greatest glory, Receive these Indian verses, which the poet renders to you, coming from Quito’s boundary, with your pleasant demeanour
The scribe’s spirit lifts scenting the perfume of promising openness taking a deep breath of tangy freshness freedom of speech hailed in surprised jubilation
My passion was born in the lusty spring At the strand of the river tumbling blue. Wild honey I drank in the years of my youth In meadows drenched with midnight dew.