Gacela Of The Dark Death

I want to sleep the dream of the apples

To withdraw from the tumult of cemeteries

I want to sleep the dream of that child

Who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas

I don't want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood

That the putrid mouth goes on asking for water

I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass

Nor of the moon with the serpent's mouth that labors before dawn

I want to sleep a while

A while, a minute, a century

But all must know that I have not died

That there is a stable of gold in my lips

That I am the small friend of the west wind

That I am the immense shadow of my tears

Cover me at dawn with a veil

Because dawn will throw fists full of ants at me

And wet with hard water my shoes

So that the pincers of the scorpion slide

For I want to sleep the dream of the apples

To learn a lament that will cleanse me of the earth

For I want to live with that dark child

Who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas