The encounter of dreams and tenderness.
Yes, they are short and fortuitous meetings,
but always dreams, always tenderness.
I don't know where they start
and when they end,
because they are ideal and unimaginable.
A multitude of lives lived,
skies of blue and lilac,
afternoons of a thousand thoughts
and magical joys.
The line of the clear horizon
illuminates as a live wire does,
it exists, tenuous and magical,
separated in tones over tones
each time purer.
I hear splendorous shades of light
with a smell of child love,
ripe and ingenuous:
sweetly and softly bitter tasting.
Destiny travels lightly
with tingles of dawn
or golden twilights.
Delicious in feeling existences,
discerning images of love.