Vernacular calm

city poem

Everything in the sky,
it seems to me,
As of celestial fire,
Skin as white,
terms of smooth mornings
soul pleasant herbs.

Rocío sunset,
I turn away from my sky,
take me to the aurora
radiant my Januarys
and fully on the trip,
vernacular of tranquility.

Am I really that sky
of evenings so certain, full of constellations,
who share my desires,
Heaven will not stop looking at you,
or tell my dreams,
because really we are one,
we learned to see us.

Everything in the sky,
it seems to me,
as of celestial fire,
skin as white,
terms of smooth mornings
soul pleasant herbs.

 (alfredo estevez)