I think of the pages passing by
I think of the pages passing by
when I write
the days
that are erased
the signs
the occult
figures
that silence slowly
surrounds
with sparkles
various suns already
the snows of Oakland at dusk
or at sunrise
the fire
two bodies graze hands
cover and push away
emptiness
the wind
the gust the word
sealed another blow no less
long
in the end pride
of dying
like a finger
of sand
rubbing our eyes
writing within memory
the poem
to Alejandra
En el verano cada palabra respira en el verano (1976)
{ Guillermo Sucre, Conversación con la intemperie. Seis poetas venezolanos, selección y prólogo de Gustavo Guerrero, Barcelona, España: Galaxia Gutenberg/Círculo de Lectores, 2008 }
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