Cuando cruel me miras como si fuera una parte del árbol que nos hace. Un sitio, un cuerpo. Un obrar constante. Un estar yendo y viniendo, a tu alrededor siendo. Un proveer nieve para la lejana cueva. Está lloviendo; y lo sabes. Es marina tu tierra. Tu rostro esperado, nube. A la altura de tu belleza, sonrisa. Mas, mano a mano, templada aurora, occidental mirada, eres, sin navegar, arte. Enojoso, vertido, hijo de un suspiro soberano. Y se quedó aparte solo, quejido.
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