La heradera del dia destruida. (The heiress of the destroyed day.)

Absence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls and hang pictures on the air.

Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

What can I say without touching the earth with my hands?

Someone will ask later, sometimes searching for a name, his own or someone's else's why I neglected his sadness or his love... But I didn't have enough time or ink for everyone. Or maybe it was the strain of the city, of time the cold heart of the clocks.

The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.

Hour of nostalgia, hour of happiness, hour of solitude.