Mariana

And as time goes by
like the wind in the mountains
and yet it grows,
grows this love of a thousand tomorrows.

I am a scream in the night
calling you silently
and I arrive at your platforms
with the warmth of my sleepless nights.

And I usually return in the early hours
to the hips of fire and moon
of my Mariana
and I usually return in the guitars
to the green and dark meadows
of her gaze.

The rain and the distance
your eyes of mystery
gather the curtains
of this song and my silence.

A mantle of sailboats
sailing through your hair
and the dark doors
of this singer, of your goldfinch.

And I usually return in the early hours
to the hips of fire and moon
of my Mariana
and I usually return in the guitars
to the green and dark meadows
of her gaze.