If only this morning in tuviera huida flavor, if not
repitiese himself paisaje plaza after plaza, if
ensordecieran the fierce shouts of the crowd shouting that passes
¡heresy! by the temples and with life,
this trip would be meaningless without returns.
sense
If love is not devoid arañándote the bowels,
a grain of salt in every wound cystic
that time if you've lived places
gives heroin facial wrinkles and scars on his soul, would answer the questions
absurd .
If they had not encountered my steps in your laughter
and had not broken out in a rhythmic rumble, squeak
a bed and flames.
a groan and clap,
the sun would not be so smart and generous with his rays,
and again I would not feel defeated, but alive.
Image: Morning sun, Edward Hooper
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