De Los Amores Peregrinos

I thought on the way to the sea
Punta Maroma
that it's about love and the scent
that it's about the moon and its round
and home of the sun of the place.
There where the green sea
is no longer light, when it loses
the intangible, to become
immense and green reality.

Early in the morning
with the multiplied light
in the infinite reflections
of that sea, bell voice
where the vigilant lighthouse
I set the south heading east
I go in search of those ports
where memories are not sighted.

I'm leaving behind nostalgia
after nostalgia on the road
that I gathered in the summer flight
of your pilgrim loves
and between the ochre and the reddish
tones brown and swallow-like
of other painted afternoons
Was it love or was it the shelter
of your lips?
That today present
by absent
have led me to remember.

To the sea, to the sea
I guessed guessing what attracts me
towards the Caribbean
where the sight cannot reach
to soar its free space
where the moon is silver
and forgetfulness tastes like salt.

I return on the way to the sea
sea of my soul, which has long
calmed the sorrow
of the homeless traveler

Perhaps yesterday was a dream
and your love a crazy fantasy
of a heated night
that entangling lost me
because you were forever
and when you were for me.

I only know how to say
with closed eyes
that the pain of not having you today
in the end became more
prolonged and strong
than the joy I found
next to you.

To the sea, to the sea
I guessed guessing
what pushes me to its domains
where the wakes depart
and the paths promise
sea where dreams themselves
learned to fly

I return on the way to the sea
sea of my soul
which has long calmed the sorrow
of the homeless traveler.