I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.
Why do trees conceal the splendor of their roots?
Love is the mystery of water and a star.
La heradera del dia destruida. (The heiress of the destroyed day.)
How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.