The cut

(2006)

The black heat is reflected on a row of black cars while I pass by the ample avenue with long steps; slowly:
what do I have?

The tall gothic dome of "Our Lady of Remedios de Escalada" projects an isosceles and threatening shadow over the burning, and still colonial street paved with stones.

The trees sway under the summer breeze like belly dancers into a sleep that is not mine... have you ever seen black phantoms with blurry faces crossing through the boulevard moved by cell phones with blue light?
Their faces are like cuts
like the cut.

I don't see anybody
anything
except the slight opression of my heart
the indistinct, introspective and personal opression of the departure (because I'll never come back, I know it very well; why everything's got to be black here..?)



In the nights of the winter, when the old women die
when nothing at all is possible, but the lie
when the haze covers the dome with sinister ardor

then my shadow won't be found
on these sidewalks
anymore.