The Wordless Language of a Cavernous Mind Selected Poems
2026-2027 Cintas Fellowship in Creative Writing
The Wordless Language of a Cavernous Mind/1
Daydreaming in a White Room
Sometimes I daydream about sitting on an easy chair near a sunny window in mid-morning, collecting Cuban dust particles with my fingertips.
It is so quiet that I can hear them colliding, moving the air as they float and fret.
Sometimes I daydream about walking to the yard, catching a firefly, sitting on the porch, and staring at it until the blackout comes.
Watching it hop inside the jar, bobbing its head up and down, demanding to be let go, demanding to be set free.
Sometimes I daydream that I am inside a room where everything is white, and I am the only thing of a different color. And then, a bright light shines, making everything turn red except for me and one small, lonely star.
The Wordless Language of a Cavernous Mind/2
Bitter Heart
Lost in a plaza known too well, where I cried a pond of tears and met a reflection that was a stranger to myself.
I dwell on things done wrong, longing for things undone; while doing nothing at all as the centuries pass me by, leaving me to wonder what set them in motion and turned my Cuban heart to stone.
The Silver Bullet
I swim the deep Straits at night, where pretty fish I can't see swim by in blue-black water, I skim with my body; dipping my head, turning for a breath.
Waves are cut deep by slivers of moonlight, stars prick holes into the crumpled blanket that opens and closes as arms move in tandem, a breeze chills my bones, blowing off the clouds.
The shore behind me, the Key ahead; always moving away as I head towards it. The sun slithers up like a golden pendant, as sky and ocean turn a pale blue.
A swift silver bullet barely touches me, a second time bumps me; I fear that my life will soon end, but it just disappears, into the Florida blue.
The Wordless Language of a Cavernous Mind/3
The Wordless Language of a Cavernous Mind/4
Early on Sunday Mornings
When it is quiet, I still hear the noises of the Island I have been, of voices I have heard.
It takes a while for ghosts of faces and scent of places to fade to recesses, with thoughts that interlace, entangled like branches creeping up the old Banyan shading the bench I sit on.
Early on Sunday mornings, when everyone is resting and I am feeling restless, I fold my hands and pray.
But I cannot be certain that I am being heard, because the trade wind keeps blowing my hushed whispers astray.
Los relojes nunca paran
Junto a ti me siento esperando tu partida, tranquilo tú estás como nunca te he visto.
Callado, reservado, apagado; pero nunca abandonado. Porque vigilo tu sueño, aunque sea un rato más.
Traté de forzar tu cuerpo a hacer lo que no podía, mientras me mirabas triste. No quería dejarte ir; tu suspiro llamaba a tu madre con labios secos, pidiendo que te llevara. Cuánto voy a extrañarte,
cuánta alegría nos trajiste, los sacrificios que hiciste, los besos que nos diste. Cuando te cierren la tapa,
cuando ya no pueda verte, ¿será acaso suficiente para poder olvidarte?
Nunca, nunca te frustres,
que siempre estarás conmigo; amigo mío de la infancia, cariño mío de mi alma. Aquí me siento llorando,
queriendo parar el tiempo, pero fuiste tú quien dijo: "los relojes nunca paran”.
The Wordless Language of a Cavernous Mind/5
The Wordless Language of a Cavernous Mind/6
The Clocks Never Stop
Beside you I sit waiting for your departure, you are more peaceful than I have ever seen you.
Quiet, reserved, extinguished; but never abandoned. Because I watch over your sleep, if only for a moment more.
I tried to force your body to do what it could not while you watched me, sadly.
I did not want to let you go; you sighed, calling to your mother with dry lips, asking her to take you.
How much I am going to miss you, how much joy you brought us, the sacrifices you made, the many kisses you gave.
When they close the lid, when I can no longer see you, do you think it will be enough to finally forget you?
Never, never be frustrated, for you will always be with me; friend from my childhood, darling of my soul.
Here I sit crying, wanting to stop time, but it was you who said: "the clocks never stop
Dicen que me he vuelto loco
Dicen que me he vuelto loco, que no hago más que oír el radio, que me levanto en la noche a tomar café y a oír el radio.
Dicen que ya estoy viejo, que no acepto la nueva invención, la televisión, que ha reemplazado el radio.
Yo me sonrío, les dejo creer que estoy sordo, para que me dejen tranquilo hacer lo que quiero.
Ellos no saben que la nueva invención me obliga a mirar gente joven, linda, o fea, y el rastro de mis grietas en la pantalla cuando la enciendo y la apago.
Pero el radio no me obliga a nada; lo enciendo, cierro los ojos, y viajo a mi pasado, a otros tiempos, cuando yo era joven, cuando era guapo.
Déjalos que digan que me he vuelto loco, que estoy sordo. Yo me sonrío, cierro los ojos, y en mis sueños cruzo el mar.
Dedicatoria: "Tú me enseñaste a soñar"
The Wordless Language of a Cavernous Mind/7
The Wordless Language of a Cavernous Mind/8
They Say I've Gone Mad
They say I've gone mad, that I do nothing but listen to the radio, that I get up in the night to drink coffee and listen to the radio.
They say I am old, that I won't accept the new invention, the television, that replaced the radio.
I just smile, letting them believe I am deaf, so they will leave me in peace to do as I please.
They don't know that the new invention forces me to look at the young, the pretty, the ugly, and the map of my wrinkles on the screen when I turn it on and off.
But the radio doesn't force me to do anything; I turn it on, close my eyes, and travel to my past, to other times, when I was young, when I was handsome.
Let them say I've gone mad, that I am deaf.
I just smile, close my eyes, and in my dreams I cross the sea.
Dedication: "You taught me how to dream"
The Wordless Language of a Cavernous Mind/9
Ancient Footprints
Sometimes at night I dream of the ghost that lingers, roaming El Morro where it once walked.
The past, and all the secrets we strive so hard to learn from relics left scattered.
But like a broken vase shattered when it fell, the pieces do not match.
Stories left unwritten, images not rendered, lives once lived, extinguished.
The present follows suit, unearthing our reality; the future, yet unborn, unsure of where it's headed.
The Wordless Language of a Cavernous Mind/10
Forgotten Gardens
The hallway leads to a narrow patio where blooms are watered by windswept tears.
Steps that lead to the wooden door carpeted thick with feathery moss.
No one sits on the cold stone slab huddled beside the colonial basin where no birds drink, no water lilies float upon its surface for over a century.
Sound of the trades howling in the distance, slipping through branches to join the silence.