Partira

It will leave from the patch of a memory, it will leave
that desires stumble upon the bread
with the bread that never arrives.

Reflecting the darkest of sorrows, reflecting
thank goodness the amulet
that hides in the secret of your legs
remains the most vital constant
and from the corner of my smiles.

And what does it matter
if I return before arriving
if the cradle of the winds
will rock in an open sky
separating in grain the time
I have left to sing.

Remembering the firmness of the steps, remembering
that even knowing myself serene
I have to involve the nerve
filling my veins and there my veins truly
to dress as a troublemaker.

And what does it matter
if I return before arriving
if the cradle of the winds
will rock in an open sky
separating in grain the time
I have left to sing.