Sorrow transforms me.
I feel as if an invisible hand
is pushing me toward
the unknown . . .
but people who come to León
for a glimpse of the famous Poet Boy
are never disappointed.
I’m always ready to entertain them
with passionate verses.
There is no greater inspiration
than sadness, but ay, Dios, my God,
how willing I would be
to trade
this sense
of uselessness
for travel, any adventure, a hopeful voyage
like the ones I used to read about in the shade
of my beloved gourd tree
and pomegranate.