Ramona

Ramona

Ramona, come closer

Shut softly your watery eyes

The pangs of your sadness

Will pass as your senses will rise

Bob Dylan, To Ramona

When night ashes spill

on your pupils,

the same as in a defenseless city,

knotting your silence,

you don’t tell me anything.

Moss also grows on my lips.

We contemplate each other

as if our bodies didn’t exist.

I come to your room

with a confusion of mouth

and a capsizing of manhood.

I bring my daily offering,

a mound of absence

cast in copper memories.