He played at the time and webbed
The afternoon when somebody said to him
That the hand that caresses
Must not be the same that strikes.
While his body rests
His mind continues traveling
And up to date what he has perceived
That he can not imagine everything.
Where the things are coming to an end
Doing a mystery of the schedule
Because he spends his hours otherwise
But without forgetting other clocks
So that when they converge
It becomes a summer party
A comet without threads refuses to run away.
On the bay area
And from there
Normally to the border
Where the lines lose clarity
To give space to the essence
That goes beyond the words
When to let itself know
It demands at least to be breathed
Beyond the outbreak
Of laughs or tears
In the hard environment of the tigers.
I already forgot her name
When nobody wanted to ask
It already became more than an image
When its definition was intended
And what is left is a little more
When she finally returns
And nobody would have missed her
Because each one saved a little
Of what she gave them at dawn.