Mi Niña Imaginada

My girl always wakes me up
with cold little hands and a playful smell,
she asks me indiscreet things
with lively eyes and a tender voice.

And she tells me she dreamt of the sun and a cicada,
and in the block she saw molded
the sounds of a steam engine,
and she hugs me to the song with a melancholic ember,
while her hair ties a knot over my voice.

My girl wants to wake me up
trapping me with the shoes she hid,
she wants to see if the cat has crests
or if there's any candy left in my purse.

And she drags me into believing her imaginary toy
and in her most beloved book, its colors without a brush
and next to her kiss in bloom, another day begins,
and my imaginary girl bids me farewell from the sun.