From the street the story
From the door of your house
Until the extraneous and pure yearning
Of which many times you saw
Surrounding you as it wasn’t pretending.
Believing to play in secret
When in your mind you move his name
When you suppose he would never notice it
That you would be prepared to take it as foundation
The words with which he will greet you every day
Maturity tells us that nobody is so different
Marking distance with a younger age
In which pain and pleasure usually dwell
For being more or less separated from others
Fasten a glance, as your own, as a reward.
And thus, suddenly in the morning
Or rather late at night or someplace else
The time goes by as a new concern
Becoming another almost identical urgency
The origin could not be in someone.
Understanding complete musical scores
Which ample schools allow harmoniously
To be drawn in vivid blueprints
And although the sphere follows in its infinite circling
At least the center could be imagined from time to time.
On the street of your firm steps in their way
Near as one human being to another
The possible fraternity for a solitary company
Crinkling the forehead without causing any harm
Just to give an answer in approaching denseness.
In the same street in which nothing can happen
So that your being can feel happy
And steal the guilty feeling from the lamps
That makes the bulbs turn off in great sadness
As they are unable continue to work in daylight.
Near here and of that street
Where twilights assume to each other
Without having at hand the end of the attic
In the eternal vault where they silently live their tomb
There is lace of the first dress, the last dry rose.
And the sacrificed wires in the columns
Resisting to lodging even when it comes to pass
The fragile moment of rest for a black bird
Because its handcrafted metallic extensions
Were infected a long time ago by your innocent desire for colors.
From the street where sometimes you danced
So that one is offended and another admires you
On the board where for the first time was written
The difficult weight that each joy likes to convey
That you read askance when you left without understanding.
From the street that will never join us
And where the sons of others will travel
Combining verbal tenses
Like races which in their final vision
Regret without repenting the moment that already passed.
From the street
That your feet leave behind
For the voice finally discovered
From the heart that you never kept
That you undoubtedly feel, demanding your surrender.