For Julio Romero de Torres
A long highway
between gray rock pinnacles
and some ordinary pastures
on which black bulls are grazing. Weeds, thorns, blackberry bushes.
The earth is still soaked
by the drops of dew
and the lombardy poplars are gold
toward the swing of the river.
Across the violet mountains
the early sunrise is breaking.
With a shotgun on his shoulder
among his excited dogs, a hunter is walking.