spanish poem

within my hand i hold
but i cannot read you now
she knows a cheap release
as i lie roofed in, screened in
perhaps it is no matter that you died
some of the hurts you have cured
up and down he goes
the old west, the old time
to the passionate lover
beautiful, tragical faces
birds against the april wind
above them all, looking down
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea