José Francisco Robles

 (Unpublished)

Nobody knows where this wave comes from,
from where its foam heads emerge,
from where the power of its breath 
and the color of its sky come.

The beaches sit down exhausted at its table
and offer clusters of children to its water.

The rocks touch its sand gloves
with the shine they inherit from the sun.
And they offer it the ability to speak,
but it decides to live in silence.

The wave lifts up with its necks and tongues
to talk about the distance among us.

Nobody knows where it comes from,
but I call it
mother of our days.