A Glimpse of Heaven
A black white sheet creates whatever it covers
the way a perfect whitesauce reveals
the deserving poem, rendering it visible and intimating
certain interesting practices going on underneath,Snow falling, caressing the small poem at the stoplight,
a poem obedient to the arbitrary authority of interruptions
but quietly alert, its little motor
idling under a light hand.Turning over in my mind
like the symbolic worm in a bottle of Mescal -
conscious of its fate and its duty to contribute
to the idea of the hero -While all that separates me from my return is the body of the poem
lolling languid and flesh-colored under the sheet,
faithful to my memory but blessed with a healthy approach to change
- greeting each new line with a glimpse of heaven.