Poesía en Inglés

Juan Pomponio




Old prophecies

they announce your skin.

I write without ink in the sky

and your name appears,

Small flowers that shine the night.

The tide arrives,

nocturnal music that unfolds

Sounds without time.

In audacious waves

the rocks explode,

they pronounce your absence.

Dream without the ink on the land:

of your smile petals fly

they gone to sleep of moon.

They leave your fragrance,

They draw your name in the sand.