Las Moscas

You, the familiar ones
Inevitable, greedy
You, vulgar flies
You bring back all the things

Oh, old voracious flies
Like bees in April
Old persistent flies
On my childhood bald head

Flies from every hour
Of childhood and adolescence
Of my golden youth
Of this second innocence
Left to believe in nothing
In nothing

Flies of the first boredom
In the family room
The bright summer afternoons
When I started to dream

And in the hated school
Swift, playful flies
Chased, chased
For the love of what flies

I know you’ve landed
On the enchanted toy
On the exiled book
On the love letter
On the lifeless eyelids
Of the dead

Inevitable greedy ones
That neither work like bees
Nor shine like butterflies
Tiny, restless
You, old friends
You bring back all the things