we all have a yard
to which we return
from time to time
to travel in dreams
and there is always a tree in it
of oranges or lemons or peaches
which we climb
from time to time
with the clumsy hands of memory
and in that yard there is always a grandfather
or a father
there is always a mother hanging the clothes
or removing fleas from the dog
already faded by the years
I look at my daughters and think
that they will also have a patio
and they will have a tree
to which they will return when one is an impalpable thing
to climb
to reach some peach
some nest already abandoned in the open
there will always be a patio where we can look
when we walk
somewhat lost
in the time