Una Tarde de Sol

What a pity not to be a passing bird, nor a defeat on a nautical chart.
How sweet to be a white cloth filled with wind on the sailboat that happily prances.
How slow to be an upright cypress to the sky and know that everything in this world needs its time.
What a pity not to be a passing bird nor a prow that cuts through seven seas.
Or the sparkle of the earring of a beautiful girl who dances barefoot in the parks.
I look for the noise of the squares. I search in the streets of cities I no longer know.
I seek the scent of women who go about their business, their struggle, the task at hand.
I keep an afternoon of sun just in case, that is a treasure that no one can take from me.
I keep the smiling gaze of some girl. I keep in a pocket the color of the skin of an orange.
Better a feather from a dog's wing than spending days waiting
to smoke out the beehive of the mind, let the apathy disperse with its shadows.
I look for you among the people in the squares.
I look for you in the streets of cities you no longer remember.
I look for you in the perfume of passing women, in the silences that grow when they don't speak.
I keep an afternoon of sun for you if you want it. That is a treasure that no one can take from you.
I keep a smiling gaze that seeks nothing.
I keep in a pocket the warmth of my skin in case you come.