jueves, 26 de julio de 2012



Good and slow, but distant
Such as sweet, ignored dreams
Like bitter forgotten desires
For a radiant head of hair

Able to pass through the eyes
From which once it was distinguished
In its inside wanted to vanish
Such as anguish that in cripples

To their hands impel to seek
The stones with which they can injure
To the athletes that will sigh

The summer in which they will die
Without suspecting that they will survive
For never allow to be perturbed