AND YOUR EYES WILL COME

And your eyes will come
to show me the light
in the midst of the chaos.
And your words will come
to gather me up.
Your arms to circle back
to where I got lost.
Like mud in your hands
I will set my water-pitcher soul on one side
of the forest of truth
my warrior body on the other
with a sword incapable
of cutting the brush from the path.
I’m not surrendering
but I’m exhausted.
And your hands will come
to touch me in the distance
because I got lost
in the thicket that covers desire
until I thought I didn’t believe in love.
I toughened up and stopped laughing.
Perhaps it’s the way it should be, you tell me.
I know that certainties
end up ceding to the violence of the ocean.
That the ocean returns everything
with its waves and illusions
—a unique world—
so that light
is reborn
because there’s nothing left to do,
fighting this battle is no longer necessary
when one always, yes, always,
ends up losing.
Freedom is choosing a path
it is misidentifying destiny
with those who cannot and know not how to join us.
Freedom that is so afraid
of loneliness.
The loneliness that is so mistaken
when it is desire that is in control.
When obsessions with love
are what govern the beat of feelings
in the face of an old man
where once there was a child.
Where there was sea and now only desert.
Where one sees heaven
and no one knows it.
Where there was something and now it’s different.
And your hands will come
to show me the path.
Your arm to remove the bewildering vegetation
that grows across my eyes
while watching the world pass by
seated in an armchair in the room
that no longer has a window
because the few that existed
have been painted black.
Were you truly in love?
And if you weren’t
why did you not know what could happen
in the dark vegetation
that dominated your whole body
and placed its certainty at the feet
of the most unlikely blows?
We hurt what we love
while pain shelters its seed
in our hearts
and is born at the wrong time
and everything becomes a hard shell.
But your words will come
making me doubt everything.
What I was and did.
What I am and do.
To tell me, no, don’t,
don’t think about it anymore now.
And give me your hand, OK?
And in my answer
—that could only be a stammering—
you’ll come tell me:
yes, I’d like you to do it
while holding me tight.
I cannot write at this distance
the words that I said,
only the ones that came to see me:
I’m kissing you too
not hard, but slowly.
Perhaps then we would have to wait
for the wall lizards to illuminate
the path of that night
where there were so many mosquitos
and the butterflies accompanied the light
to its destiny, even dying.
I too fall asleep with my eyes open.
Will you let my hands close them for you?
And your eyes will come to mine
so I can sleep easy.
And your hand will come to mine
so that sleep
can draw the path
that is now uncovered.
And your nocturnal silence will come
to be a word that only I
—for now—can hear.
Relax now, my love, relax.
Because even though you’re still fragile
the tiny light
will be able to break your shell.
Relax now, my love, relax.

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