Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

You and I You, dressed in snow within my nocturnal pages, dancing. Full moon in the black lagoon. I, vortex of shadows curled up on your white lap, beating. Alabaster coal seam. You, pupil of mourning in the white lead of my eyes, liquefying. Obsidian teardrop in the sand. I, quiet lotus in the darkness of your sorrow, opening. Night pearl petal.

Under the skin of an oak , in its emaciation, my heart is also naked, stripped of bark, it tests the white calligraphy of oblivion, cuts the veins of desire already in a drought. Under the dark skin, the driest light, I open the channels for your fast-flowing rivers, and follow the footsteps of your efflorescence through the paths of a soul no longer mine. I’ll orient myself to bird and sun so that my voice is warm and loud. I won’t reveal your names. I’ll write an empty                concave poem                    so you can pour into it the honey in your eyes. I’ll wait for your rain without moving. Immerse me in your calm waters. I’ve walked towards your high twilights like moss that decorates the forgotten crevices of a wall. Make me your hollow bowl of love, your nursery, plant peaceful oaks in my heart.