La mariposa y la flor

Nightingale that hung the faith of your trill,
in the evening.
Where are you that I have never been able
to find you?
I traveled with pain the stillness of the road
without finding you.
Where is your song of illusion and love?
Where is it?
Butterfly of light that stirred my nights
with your wings.
You must have forgotten to flee from my flowers
without finding you.
Where are, butterfly, your wings of light?
Where are they?
Yellow heliotrope that died crying
in the evening.
Your corolla is just a distant
and cowardly memory.
I wanted to hide you in the chest of a glass
and take care of you.
But you have died and then you became my obsession:
Where are you?