Helena

For days
leaning on the balcony
I've lost my wage
chatting with a sparrow
more bored than me.

Or watching
how an oak tree sheds its leaves
smelling rosemary.
How they bloom again
and shed once more.

For days I don't know how many days ago.
For days I've been saying... tomorrow
and I hope...
and I hope.

Living with nothing.
Working for nothing
and one day as if nothing
to die for nothing.
Goodbye. Thank you.

At the back of a bar
getting drunk on perfume
to warm my heart
while death arrives
to play auction.

For days I don't know how many days ago.
For days I've been saying... tomorrow
and I hope...
and I hope...
and I hope...

Leaning on the balcony
I hope.
Stripping the horizon
I hope.
I hope for Christmas
and for the Magdalene
for day and for night
that Helena returns
that Helena returns...

and when she passes by my street
even the geraniums wink at her.
The air warms with her breath
and the cobblestones look up
to her tanned skin.

When Helena passes by.

When she looks, you know the source
when she wants, she gives.
When she cries, you know what pain is.
When she's silent, I tremble all over.
When she loves, love takes flight...

And between rooftops the sun swings
and the walkways of light threads
jealously watch how it laughs and moves.
Color of long wait and perfume
of full moon
my Helena.

My Helena...
but...

For days
standing hurts me
rheumatism breaks my fingers
and the last sparrow has flown away.