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| That's me |
That's me, and you'll notice that
will shorten my stride, and will not change or renounce dress
to write what your heart tells me
.
But who will affect
read what I wrote them on the label
wide flight
in a book or on the wings of time
trivial?
time he walked behind the freshness
a word opened, made of sawdust
the breath of his own ingenuity.
time
says oblivion is nothing more than a cassock
written on his chest, kiss
soaked in for a perfect occasion
in the garden somewhere.
do not know ... That's me
II, which waives
to hide under the carpet the valleys
silent, that trembles in the portal
memory,
which the commission feels tomorrow
stun all;
which hides its rehearsals in the same drawer
iron
of when he scored his creed
stacked so much misery.
III
That's me,
women who lived and live
pending the dew from the air, the submerged wave
its peak appeared
mattress from the sea and the coldness of the day ...
showing their alphabet in the rain tapered;
that says there is life even when dying
his breath of air.
IV
That's me, a woman born under
airy tower of the time,
which
wears black in white started the day
-like green hope
not be who
is concluded, no longer
kindness during midday.
© Copyright Maria del Mar - 2009
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