En esa loca danza del miedo, del hambre. También, ternura. Ternura enredada como tirabuzones de verde parra. Deseo rodeando el calor del tallo sobre su superficie seca. Calor que crece preguntando a la luz «¿Quién soy?». Te ofrezco flores para que me ames, me huelas, veas, toques sobre pétalos que gritan la quiebra de la fragilidad pidiendo perdón al viento que evitan. Recógeme antes de la tarde Lejos del viejo frío de la noche.
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