The train of the twelve [Translation by Maria Eugenia Caseiro]

The train of the twelve knifes the air.
It nails depth the dagger
in those clouds formed by the dust
and the soot
and the sadness
that begin to be piled
around the seven.

The train of the twelve crosses the time.
It joins dreams at times
and distributes them in the farm
where the insects
throw stones al path.
There the doves have teeth
and every night a girl dies
bled by the moon

The train of the twelve moves away
and the heart of each thing
closes in itself
and is lit of the invisible birds
that do not stop raining from the stars.

Gocho Bersolari