Dos Alpargatas

Your sad eyes are like a basin,
when we're not close we're two lame sparrows,
two espadrilles made of sackcloth
and a port for each bed where not even a boat docks,
and a bit of sun on the terrace
and soon shovelfuls of sand for the heart
dying in your arms,
stomping with the full moon.

And among my smudges I've been a donkey
who wanted to kiss the air and the sidewalk and stay with you
and it can't be,
I won't swim again in the wheat fields
the bread gets dirty from looking at my navel.

Doubts arise, bolt the door,
I take a bouquet and then brush my jacket
with six buttons,
that neither sons of bitches nor thieves changed it,
and loneliness will tiptoe away
after changing the orange blossom petals
for a prickly pear that bursts the balloons of my spring.

And among my smudges I've been a donkey
who wanted to kiss the air and the sidewalk and stay with you
and it can't be,
I won't swim again in the wheat fields
the bread gets dirty from looking at my navel.

And on my lintels, bad luck grows stronger
and braying I forget that I came to see you,
if I don't look for food on the shelves of your closet
maybe life will corner me and luck will screw me.

And among my smudges I've been a donkey
who wanted to kiss the air and the sidewalk and stay with you
and it can't be,
I won't swim again in the wheat fields
the bread gets dirty from looking at my navel.