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THE ORIGINAL ANCESTOR

I

My first
my most ancient
ancestor
is love,

I know it well.

When the first lovers
on earth
kissed
they were putting
name to my lips.
The endless pain
of this biography
begun.

In any case
love is always
pain.
And the first pain
must have been
the greatest,
its strength
still moving in us.

II

Love is like a house
built
so that birds
wind and rain
sing in its eaves,
and men and their shadows
live inside.
Lay a brick
and another beside it,
until one morning
of many,
we hear a song
in the roof
and a cry
within the house.
The roof is the soul
of houses.
From it the wind begins.

III

It is all so complex,
so worldly worldly,
that if my hand looks for you
your hand takes care
of stopping its flight.
That way nothing is known.
No one knows
if you skin
is the color of sweetness
or if it’s only your eyes
that burn in my chest.

To love
One must ask for everything.

Any one part
denied
puts the body in mourning.

And so one rebels
if the offering is not complete.

If you kiss my mouth,
why can’t I kiss
the light of your breasts?
All that has limits
defines
a scattering of roads.

In the end, one remains alone.
And someone is left in sadness.
To be truthful, few even know.

IV

We try
so hard
to be alone with ourselves,
that everything dies
in the trying.
And we keep on going
with these blind
hands
reaching to touch
the distance
where it flees,
never to return,
because these hands
would go on forever
into the shadows.

Then, they call us unstable.
I don’t know.  I never could understand.
One can’t understand so many things.

But one thing I know.

Someone
put this inconsistency I suffer
on my lips.
Perhaps
my original ancestor:
love.