Boceto Para Esperanza
Malpais
Sketch for Hope
If you were to touch that memory...
It seems eternal
the dust of your eyes;
but the smell of that page doesn't return,
it left, with the sleepless nights of your forehead.
If you were to touch those days,
the strange magic
of everything that rains,
touch the sun that is wrinkled among the leaves,
the dog and the weaving aunt...
When the air had traces of blue,
in the courtyard fit
all the light.
Take me where I can,
grandma, sleep,
If you were to return, take me there.
If you were to stay in what remains:
that house
under the years,
that way of rocking the almond trees,
the water that the jar invented...
Time is giving us a time
to return
to the courtyard of your hands,
to recognize among the hanging sheets
the faces we lost so long ago.
When the air had traces of blue,
in the courtyard fit
all the light.
Take me where I can,
grandma, sleep,
If you were to return, take me there.
