The pleasant umbrella stand: my train, and the cards:
my train’s tickets: so many stations:
The thief space vanished;
in my sockets of the niche the moisture
has amassed its tears:
I will count the cards: I am missing a pink one:
my card, I want
my card; why is the furniture trembling?;
mama, will you kiss me, if I go to bed?:
good night, mama; big, your arms;
why is the furniture trembling? and that purplish hand
that is coming in through the
transom?
and that brush of sabots, mama, that stretching?
and that hand pokes about the sofa, pokes about
the marble of the bureau,
about the mirror:
polished, entangled, in the corner
it looks like the house where grandmother sleeps;
aren’t you fixing yourself up,
mama?: do I need to leave
alone?:
will it be a trip or a surprise?;
mama, you know?, the hand
is gone;
will you,
mama, let me go out
and conquer sidewalks?
will you get mad?: I’m hiding very still;
but don’t cry, no; look, come quick and see me,
without bringing me magnolias, like to grandmother; bring me
the cards: they are seeping
into the umbrella stand;
and give me your kiss, even if it’s from afar;
give me your arms, even if it’s from afar;
dark, happy,
I hold your tenderness tight,
and don’t cry, don’t cry: I’m wrapped up snug.