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singing Sleepwalker so under
night as I sing like a bird blind
that towards the light by pure instinct, "I can
be offense, guys?
You who live at the edge of the precipice
, you have the house and sloping
vacuum side,
forgive "to sing at this time?
I tend too. But fear not.
there in my sleep I
dense flora contained in chintz
landscapes as real, solid prisons.
not ask me to bury this too
-the simple melody
absurd that I have left-after land
them ruined so many beauties.
My singing voice is the first
water running through the grass and stones.
not know how to stop, no end.
flows, as I flow in its flow.
'm recovering from oblivion the name of primitive life. Canto
things and beings that do not have
deep voice or lost.
Do I hear singing, sleepwalking on the night
scratched by the moon still
secure, lonely and isolated voice
with the bird some sleepless?
Until the end I sing. Asleep.
claims so I will pass this
only voice that sustains and guides,
fluorescent thin voice of love.
And even in the chaos, if chaos comes,
leave my mark on the song live
as a measure of this inexhaustible
hope that we call human. Creature
multiple , 1954
More poems of Mary Beneyto:
http://www.amediavoz. com / beneyto.htm 
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