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of your voice




Your voice fills with iris
the sunny precipices where my whistle
lines of combat.

Your voice sowing stars azure sky
little of my soul.

Your voice falls in my blood
as a white stone in a calm lake. In my chest
dawning birds and bells
when he dies to give birth to silence your voice.

I love your voice when you sing there is a tremor of
nests and woods in your
white throat.

I love your voice when you sing and makes you tingle
the pace of reduction
sources from the mountain.

I love your voice when you sing your voice shakes
and tenderness fruitful
breezes in the evenings
carrying pollen of spring.

I love your voice when you're
silence because silence is a fine omen of your voice.

And I love your voice of an intense love as death
when browsing in confused words,
in wet from your words and aroma from your blood,
minute in words that I seek the shadows
like children lost
in words burning as blue flames,
in the warm whisper that is not the word.
I love your voice intensely in the heart of midnight.
When your voice is burning in the forest fire of our love
.

Miguel Otero Silva