room on the roof                       
the echo of dogs 
in the backyards

on the blue sea 
like dead whales 
two black rocks

The black sapote makes me think 
that I am eating, in the daytime 
and in pieces, the night

traffic sign—
the fallen leaves move 
in the opposite direction

War drum 
the fertile half moon 
a basin of blood

The tiny magnifying glass 
the butterfly needs 
to observe the flower

the sapodilla falls 
frightened the thrushes 
flee and cry out

In Spring 
all dreams open 
like flowers.

on the cement
the bee swigs from
the jacaranda flower

fallen leaves
and cigarette butts have gathered
in the potholes

the rain stops
a stray dog
shakes itself off

One walker
following Buddha’s steps
in a lotus flower.

The panther’s skin
was upholstered
with new moons

the earwig
how many hours captive
in this bowl

A nomadic cloud
always forgets its drops
on my window

The buzzards,
from the antenna, watch
the sunset

Day of gold
The lariat closes its question mark
around the bull’s horns

The prickly pear and the
porcupine cross
stabbing looks

Tender willow
almost gold, almost amber
almost light . . .

In the smooth curve
of hills
dark flesh undulates.

Pelican.
Porcelain coffee pot
floating on the water.

Light skin of cloud
where a splinter
of moon is impaled.

Sometimes
I feel the need to cry,
but the sea does it for me.

You will cry soon.
The sky already becomes
small in your eyes.

If man is dust
those that wander across the plain
are men

The falling leaf
dreams it is — for an instant —
a wing and a wave

Sunflower
even when torn from its stem
still attends to the sun’s course.

Like a black cat
the night awakens itself
little by little

Torrential rain.
Afterwards the green
skin of the frog.

House without doors
dead leaves rain
on the roof.

At water’s edge
supple reeds
trap these words.