Eduardo Dip

Crujiente, el alma.

Como un follaje gris
crujiente, el alma
resquebrajadamente
flota en el final
de algún principio.
 
Encuentro el tiempo,
el que me deja ver
si lo que he soñado
concluye en algo
y así volar a él.
 

 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Eduardo Dip.
Published on e-Stories.org on 27.09.2012.

 

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