You are a dire necessity I know, O Poverty
Much have I had of you all my life
And long to have you all the more of yours.
For you make me observe the stars
Like a mariner sitting at the mast wide
Open in the craving breast of the sea
For you make me feel the dumb voices
Tyrants have planted in the alluvial
Plains of the trodden.
I’ve tasted of the forbidden fruit
From the field of heaven.
Vultures are meant to be feeding
On the flesh. They smell of war
Even in the tranquil valley of the tribes.
They wake up the squirrels at midnight
Making the moon beyond the hills weep
To quench their bloody thirst.
I need you more! Oh, all the more of yours,
O barren palm of fate!
Caress my skull with your soothing fingers
So I can have more of yours in my chest
To feel the same frailty continents have had
To feel the infallible calls of the dead.
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