Belleza

I know my work is the same

as a painting int he air;

that the hurricane of time

will erase it all, as though

it were perfume or music;

that there will remain of it

-One yes, ruined by many noes-

in the great and sun-filled silence,

the ignorance of the moon.

-No, no; one day it will be

(erased) an immense existence,

a wakeful vigilant virtue,

it will be, like the pre-sunrise,

impossible perfect norm;

an unending anguished zeal,

mine of sublime secrecy…-

My mortal immortal flower,

queen of the air today!