Residue*
I declined my forehead on the plateau of revelations and terror, where the impartial dew of the parabola will not venture.
I departed to an illustrious city and the virgins would close their window to the accent of my sinister lute.
A chaste form, of celestial origin, was depositing her glacial kiss on my hair. She was arriving through my exile’s sleep, to my stone bed, pit of Job, abyss of the sorrows of Leopardi. Did she hurt her orange blossom feet?
A tree, emissary of the storm, lashes the horizon with its naked branch in the course of the monotonous day. My voice has frightened you away from my hard road, tempest bird, zenith of the sky’s cupola.
Geneva, March of 1930
*El Universal; Caracas, 13 June 1931. (Published by José Nucete Sardi in an article about Ramos Sucre.)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
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