Today’s Latitude and Longitude
The invisible grotto of hair
That is the vase of the sky
Drawn by the sun on the waterfall
Is recognized as the only wind
By my blood’s caresses
Escaping from the stone’s frightened leaves
Escaping from the road’s small white shoes
Escaping from the night’s lonely furrow
Too long to be long extinguished
Too trembling a coffin
To be the room where the flood orates
To its distant resemblance
the eye’s singed frost
Brilliant the straight fire
In the worms that are threads
Brilliant the crooked ruler
In the bird’s trains and limousines
All resounding with infinite
Globes of throat snow
Winter in your skin.