Gacela of the Remembrance of Love
Do not carry your remembrance. Leave it, alone, in my breast, tremor of a white cherry tree in the torment of January. There divides me from the dead a wall of difficult dreams. I give the pain of a fresh lily for a heart of chalk. All night long, in the orchard my eyes, like two dogs. All night long, quinces of poison, flowing. Sometimes the wind is a tulip of fear, a sick tulip, daybreak of winter. A wall of difficult dreams divides me from the dead.