Carta

Long time, yes, I haven't written to you.
All the news became old.
I myself have aged: look closely
at these signs on me, not from the caresses
(so light) that you used to give on my face:
they are blows, they are thorns, they are memories
of life to your boy, who at sunset
loses the wisdom of children.
The lack of you is not so much
at bedtime, when you used to say
"God bless you," and the night opened in a dream.
It's when, upon waking, I see in a corner
the accumulated night of my days,
and I feel that I am alive, and not dreaming.