The moon came to the forge

with its tuberose bustle.

The boy looks at her.

The boy is looking at her.

in the shaken air

the moon moves its arms

and teaches, lubricious and pure,

her breasts of hard tin.

Run away moon, moon, moon.

If the gypsies came

they would do with your heart

white necklaces and rings.

Boy, let me dance.

When the gypsies come

they will find you on the anvil

with eyes closed.

Run away moon, moon, moon,

I already feel their horses.

Boy, leave me, don’t step

my starched white.

the horseman approached

playing the drum of the plain

Inside the forge the child,

his eyes are closed.

Through the olive grove they came,

bronze and dream, the gypsies.

heads up

and narrowed eyes.

How the zumaya sings,

oh how he sings in the tree!

The moon goes through the sky

with a child by the hand.

Inside the forge they cry,

screaming, the gypsies.

The air watches over her, watches over her.

The air is veiling her.