On a day like this I hear angels' voices through rustling leaves
while the lone sailboat dabs colour on a curve of sheltered blue water,
a triangular statement with points and direction
like the holy trinity speaking in the wind.
This vivid afternoon navigates on the wings of sweet freedom,
and ripples roll under the fingers of a poem.
On my balcony, between the air ferns and the billowing drapes,
my muse is on speaking terms with me,
breaking the barriers I built up for so long.
With a renewal of mind and a refreshing of spirit,
I breathe in time here on the slope of the Sierra Maestra,
and I will repeat what I hear from the angels when they sing.