Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

My book of poems sleeping in the meekness of the pond… the child’s eye knows nothing of refraction aphorisms scar the skin of water, the fragile trace of truth a foggy journal sealed with lead… days of waiting waiting for dreams… the smoke of failure and the abandonment of petals, all forgiven

Gazelle I feel, smell, liken him to a gazelle under the rain, a warmth that leaves with the mist. I put him in the column of a poem, he leaves with the nervousness of a gazelle frightened by the hand crossing his moist back.

sake rites celebrating rice and bamboo… the moon becomes an umbrella, moves with what does not return Japanese fan… a haiku inhabits my spirit like a mailbox full of nostalgia malodorous of sugarcane and sour snuff