De Buenos Aires Morena

Wind that came from the south,
was its girl's ardor,
brown pollen on the skin,
and in her voice the fragrance.

It brought the happy scent,
of the flower from her patio,
the desire to see and live,
revealed by her hands.

I know a poet loved her,
and put her in his song,
and that his song cried,
when he saw her leave,
from dark Buenos Aires,
eyes of tears and miracle,
forge of kisses that give,
her lips burning.

When she returns to the south,
not even the kisses reach her,
love flashes like lightning,
and the goodbye bleeds her,
she must be stolen from the south,
and taken to life,
give the night the light,
of her stolen laughter.

I know a poet trembled,
when he could find her,
She returned to his arms,
Through southern roads,
from dark Buenos Aires,
she must be stolen by singing,
drunken birds and stars are calling her,
and the wind's cicadas hang their song on her.