Sobre el blanco de tus ojos se hizo el instante. El instante en silencio confiado, creo. Caluroso, infranqueable, como una respiración que duda. Exploraba allí, en ti, el exilio cuando no estabas. Ahora pienso como hombre de tierra. Y temo al sol que resquebraja, al atardecer cuando no vienes, a lo que sin ruido se derrama.
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