Blood of the ceibal1
that becomes flower:
I don't know why
it hurts me more today
your sign of love.
Zamba I want to hear
on the evening:
light bud,
that wants to be sun
and it can't be.
Oh, sad one,
still sad,
that is a blue drizzle
murmuring to
the reedbed!
the wind brings it
the sun takes it:
dream in the wheatfield
and over the willows,
love moan.
I feel coming
its voice from the hill:
it is a handkerchief
and I will fasten it
on my heart.
1. A place planted with ceibos. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erythrina_crista-galli