Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Narcissus’s Death Narcissus, Narcissus, the antlers of the murdered deer, fish, flames, flutes, are nibbled fingers. Lips are paths, sad flames, waves biting hips. Cold fish of the green, air in the mirrors without stretch marks, flocks of pigeons hidden in the dead throat, daughter of the arrow and the swan, seashell in the wave, uninterested cloud, foam hangs from the eyes, not offered marmoreal drop, a heron needs to wander! You hear fruit like screams in the snow, the secret in converted geraniums. Silk whiteness ascending spilled lips, open oblivion to the islands. Swords and eyelashes surrender to the dream, render the mirror on an impure seashore. Moist lips not on the seashell search for the straight thread. They are slaves of dry contours. The air bites the litmus that changes its sound into blond litmus of salt lime. If he goes through the mirror, the waters that stir the ears boil. If he leans on its edge or on his forehead the centurio