Tú, tú, el hilo que me trenza, las profundas alas de mariposa, el perfume del paisaje. Y llegas con el color de tu boca, involuntaria. Y llegas con las circunstancias invisibles jugando al destino. Tú, tú, don y ternura, pones a mis sentidos visiones; pones todo el amor que te queda. Y los miedos alisas con tus conjuros. «Eres temprano», perfume y orilla, umbral del río, mirada que crece. Eres rama, mano, ribera, esperanza.
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