GUITAR

They went out hunting for guitars,

underneath the full moon.

And they brought back her:

pale, fine, lithe,

ceaseless mulata eyes,

a waist of open wood.

She’s young, just barely flies.

But already she sings

when she hears, in other cages,

the flittering wings of sones and coplas.

His sombersones and her lonelycoplas.

On her cage is this inscription:

“Caution: she dreams.”

Translated from the Spanish