About Profiles

About Profiles

Sharpened in the light,

like a sunrise doctoring himself in water,

I look at how you lean on the magnet

of your own shadow, as if you were a dream clock

in the sweaty age of the planet. You are a fire cloud

for the dolphin's plumage, the scar that travels

from the nerve track of insomnia

to the sulfur eyelid of an unclaimed god.

I am the man, the throbbing eye

in harmony with my uproar.

Incurable tenderness suffocates me

with the hands of oblivion

because I speak alone to the crowds

of your name. I am inside the small cavity

of your dust with no possibility of a return,

I look at you with the wise

inconstancy of vinegar.

I am the man,

the dream,

the eye.