I write in the evening / the verses that at day / fell into my heart. / Poetry of people / who walk the streets, / poetry of the sailors / and of prostitutes; / poetry of the dogs / in the squares at noon. / In the night of life, / their tentacles / of stone, bread, and solitude / weigh on me. / And, since then, I write / on the hands of the workers; / and since then I write / about the eyes of lovers; / and, since then, I write / in the evening, in the sunlight, / and in the rain. / And, since then I write.
