Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
My apologies who cry from the abyss of a minuet drive.
I apologize to people in the stations by the sueñoa five in the morning.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing at times.
Forgive me, deserts, not to run with a bucket of water.
And you, falcon, years ago the same in the same cage,
still staring at the same point always
absolve me, even a stuffed bird.
My apologies to the felled tree for the four legs of the table.
My apologies the big questions for small answers.
truth, I do not pay too much attention.
solemnity, magnanimous me.
Support, mystery of existence, you start your tail threads.
not accuse me, soul, poC Premio Nobel Literatura 1996
Versión en español Abel. A. Murcia
Photo: Brick Buildings at KL Auschwitz
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