The summer blessing

I don’t wear the curse in my stomach,

that one that fell roaring from the sky,

for ten days it was crying and

everything was said, the indelible,

in the black of my pupil when it, scared, was throbbing

at the seen of the weak light through the cloud. 

Like an invertebrate animal, sewn in human

skeleton, I was writhing among the days.

like an abyssal animal who needs oxygen,

inaccessible from birth.

What was the touch from outside?
The foam, and the beauty of the light in the sand,

and the breeze and mist and cold behind a towel,

dunes and baskets, watermelon and ice-cream,

the families, couples, the children and the

sandcastles.

The white streets with no sidewalks, just with the

shadow of the palm trees, tree or four stores,

orchards, gardens, roads among wheat and greenhouses,

horses, dogs, and cats, beetles.

Tan skin and barefoot wet feet,

Without combing, the sun was the only witness

Of all of it and me, from the sea bottom,

Smelling the distant.