Nicolas guillen can you

Perhaps the elegant air you would sell me, that air not all of it which trips around your garden, from corolla to corolla in your garden for the birds tenpenceworth of elegant air. The air spins and goes by in a butterfly Belongs to no-one, no-one. Can you sell me the sky the sky sometimes blue or grey sometimes a strip of your sky the bit you think you bought with the trees of your garden, as one buys the roof with the house?

Can you sell me a dollar of sky, two miles of sky, a slice, whatever you can of your sky? Can you sell me rain, the water given to you by your tears, and moistening your tongue?

I have, let's see, I have the pleasure of going about my country, owner of all there is in it, looking closely at what I did not or could not have before. I can say cane, I can say mountain, I can say city, say army, now forever mine and yours, ours, and the vast splendor of the sunbeam, star, flower.

I have, let's see, that being Black no one can stop me at the door of a dance hall or bar. Or even on the rug of a hotel scream at me that there are no rooms, a small room and not a colossal one, a tiny room where I can rest. I have, let's see, that there are no rural police to seize me and lock me in a precinct jail, or tear me from my land and cast me in the middle of the highway.