Poetry is a jaguar
It has bitten each of our shadows
And I fall asleep, burning,
In a spiritual forest
Traveller, a little wine?
Let’s drink from the cup of fate;
The dome of the hours awaits us –
Skeptical stars, scattered flowers,
Eternal return of the flames,
Violet ethanol blaze,
Anonymous mooring pontoons,
Adventurers burned in the flame of history,

Poetry is a jaguar, an ounce
It has devoured each of our thoughts,
Waited a hundred days for our voices to reach it
Poetry is a jaguar that watches over our nights;
I waited a hundred days for your voice to reach me,
The horizon suffered the assaults of the morning
My wound reopened at the sight of the sun
Today I play whist with the dawn
My boat crosses the incandescence of the morning
I am a sailor without a captain,
Love is my promised land.