Cities of powder

That day how she was beautiful
In her whitish crinoline
And the lace and the crepe
Have stroke the gray road

The girl believes in the miracle
In the long fields of ripe wheat
She caresses God with rage
And sifts the barrels of powder

Her veils have whitened the sandstone walls
It is the flight of a swallow
And a car is waiting for her in the ditch
The door creaks as it opens

And the beams of the house are boned
Like ideals, waxy surfaces
Say, hope bewitches us
The skies are too big for us

Who could hem them in
Shorten the clouds?
My love, this gray mist covers
All the parks in this neighborhood

It closes the half-open mouths
The sick chords of the guitars
It crushes the dismembered accents
Who could shorten our sky?

She has the thick eyelashes of the night
Twigs in her brown locks
And the spark of a star’s clouds
In the liquid molasses of the night

The girl believes in the miracle
In the long fields of ripe wheat
She caresses God with rage
She scatters the barrels of powder

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