Trance
I have dreamed of the golden beauty. I watch her grace and feel her voice.
With elegant reasons she begins a promising conversation.
I am kneeling. I want to oppress in my hands her thin and lazy right side.
She expounds in a select language an event from illustrious centuries. She refers to the troubles of a disillusioned troubadour.
I spy traces of her illuminated face.
She adds comments of sharp and suspicious criticism, and I agree with an inscrutable muteness.
La torre de Timón (1925)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
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