All amounts of land, which falls from the stars,
will survive.
you survive the time, space, stray dogs,
salt stones, disenchantment.
I survive all the miracles that were already before the random
encoding your protein: rain on the grass,
Martian ice, games for children during recess of ten and a half, lovers
invulnerable to straighten the muscles and bones in those bites
his early and ardent sunsets
bacteria and microbes, disease unavailable, poetry ...
The infinite beauty of light that opens like a flower pale
shrapnel to puncture the streets and rooftops in each new morning in April
sure you survive. And I'll survive
love of some unstated and feverish adolescent
moist bread eaten by the cat on the sidewalk, your favorite books doubt your afternoon or
the bowels of women filled containing the beating of another miracle
warm human blood. That too will survive.
When you leave you will come new suns, moons rotate,
will open more men fall, most summers, uncorking similar joys and sorrows,
discovering planets astronomers will continue without you, girls
queue up her skirts again
for children to look at them and smiled, flashing
puddles remain in the sun under blue swings, a mother
open the windows to air out the house and some far part of a man
treacherously his blood tested before the end, without even realizing it.
And so one day sleep among the rocks on the planets, nestled in a haven
impassable and no worries, all debris, splintered bones, remains red, soft breakdown
your architecture.
And all things beautiful, rain, kissing, light, April ... -
all that rises from the earth, which falls from the stars,
will survive.
Included, of course, most importantly of yourself, because one thing is to die from time to time
quite another to escape life forever.
Greetings Jim.
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