Dance of the Tender Leaves
My body trembles...
Trembles with an appealing bitterness.
Delight yourself smiling
In the penumbra of a dusky passage
Which confines a sad and tender tone...
Slow, nostalgic burden.
Drops in its bosom, drowning them,
Undertaking the silence,
But not the tranquillity.
Shades of perspired wax
In a cadenced perspective.
Chilled in the insubmission
To the theatrical final.
As fallen and humid leaves on the floor,
Agreeing with a penalty
That the winds condemned.
Awaked by disguised voices among the shadows,
Dancing around, ghosts dissembled as children.
Dancing around as if they were playing
The wheel of fortune...
Enclosed in the creation
Of a non-existent transparency,
We flow through the wrists,
Fearing a solemn audacity.
Fragile abyss that never goes away,
Enrapturing myself
With tremulous and sprinkled puddles,
In a winter's overcast nightfall.
