I hide
after a poem
shadow tree
from which only
may see
the luminous song
of their birds.
This spring could not resurrect either,
and his youth is
nailed to a cross
where there is no one.
Another year passed on his shoulders
and left it a little more buried
forging assumptions as truths,
the same thread again
from when there was how to wait.
He lives checking what he knows,
on a straight slave road
fashionable, biting
the length of each thorn in the crown of it,
knowing half of the sentence.
elespacioreal
Another year passed
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espacioreal
A veces leo.
elespacioreal
Magician
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