MEMORY

… Still, they are still slipping and running water drops
For your breasts trembling;
They still sing chicharas to the sound of noon
And the air from the stubble arrives and smells like pure fennel,
to Higuera and Tomillo;

... And even, the river murmurs still drunk, and your skin,
  and the sun and light torvas to the freshness of the grass,
Still, still;

… And I come to remember now your bálagos and snows of August:
Hirar blood
and the living knives with which you killed me;
... And still, I still remember that barefoot, and for days and days,
- Running and bleeding -
  We were kissing all the thistles and stones of the earth.
***
Antonio Justel
https://www.oriondanthoseas.com
***