Remember the howling wind
against our backs,
pushing us forth
on that desert flattened beach
the waves crashed at our feet
splashing on our crispy clothes,
your voice mumbled in my mind
the slow movement of your dry lips
puffing on that burning popping greefah.
Remember how we walked for hours south
the stomping of my feet,
on the soft wet sand
stopping my body from falling ahead,
hearing the slow pump on my chest
the ringing of sand in my ears.
You blew fast words from your mouth
as the tide regurgitated the waves
the white foam boiling out of the sea.
Remember how we were free
walked without reason on that beach
never hearing what we said,
not knowing where we were.
Copyright © 1990 Jorge Luis Carbajosa
El descampado 
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