JUNZABURO

JUNZABURO

Sitting on the clothesline,
among my washed skirts
I have sung with your voice ...
digress from ashes, rain, sex,
and our tracks
lost in Japan,
my dark circles ... that you read
and others not,
Salmon that show through top,
a sock falls flat
It prowls made Gran Vía
burned by the sun,
I think bubbles
follow me where I walk,
scattered through the heavens,
and verses where I burn ...
then think Junzaburu
walking among cherry trees,
and I never get tired of being game,
take pictures of your wings
Cam made of fingers.

-© Carmina Ral 2016

Sobrieties

Sobrieties

We  draw a scales
on the limestone wall of the entrance,
chaining our names
with ivy invented to plot
on the island, this beach
where we agreed the legality of ban
the lie of words,

 by the wheel of Hermes swore to die!
sobrieties holding as if they were
the last convoy that started towards the end.

-© Carmina Ral 2016

THE VOICE

THE VOICE

Fractured poet
at the bottom of the sixth verse,
in the core of a tear
that throng and hold
cradled between the eyelid
and a fleeting wink,
the resigned gesture
awaited desire
to get me on track
the heart,
and it is playing the swing
hesitation
the voice that I confused
why it  entertained me
the voice between mosses
no longer harbors,
the voice of folly,
as  unheeded
the traces of my feet
cold velvet ...

-© Carmina Ral 2016