I went to the last poems
of Pablo’s life.
How did they differ from
his youth?
The conquests of his maturity?
What does a poet say
as life trails out,
when he is dying?
I noticed how much shorter
his odes had become,
how much simpler his gaze.
I felt the tenderness
and fragility of love,
the pauses between his words.
The poems charmed me.
Touched a spot in my soul
seldom touched.
As if the eyes of a child
were looking into mine,
a selfless generosity,
a playfulness.
I am innocent
the poems were saying.
A light is growing brighter
inside me.
The shadows are fading away.
I want the world to embrace me.
I want my poems
released to the sky,
saying everything left
I have inside me,
set free at the close of day.