Zenith
The virgin drives away some long birds, accustomed to frolicking in the mud, attuned, according to size, with the cylinder of aquatic life.
The caravan of candid clouds suffers from thirst in the radiant desert.
The slave draws water from an empty well and refreshes the foot of a pomegranate tree. He takes advantage of a pulley’s ministry, executing equal, mechanical movements.
The mirage oscillates in the sands, naked sheet, by the gleam of a living evaporation.
An oily lake interrupts the bitumen floor.
The virgin remains on the terrace, from where she scattered the lusterless birds. She registers, within a single glance, the circle.
She sings or screams in a venerable language, with firm voice, accustomed to distance.
She feasts the glory of elemental fire.
Las formas del fuego (1929)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
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