
Una ciudad,
siluetas,
edificios fragmentados en el polvo,
en el beso de girasoles,
en un libro de cuentos
donde Casiopea
ya no corre,
donde la chica de labios gruesos
no sabrá quién es Lord Byron,
mucho menos Virginia
y el lobo con bufanda de poeta.
La bufanda,
es un viaje
sin retorno.




A city,
silhouettes,
buildings fragmented in the dust,
in the kiss of sunflowers,
in a book of stories
where Cassiopeia
no longer runs,
where the girl with full lips
won't know who Lord Byron is,
much less Virginia
and the wolf with the poet's scarf.
The scarf,
is a journey
of no return.


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