WOMAN

The woman who walks in front of his shadow.

Those who precedes the light as the birds to the celebrations of the solstice. The thing that has kept for himself except their youth and the stone engarzada of tears.

One that has extended his hair on the tree blooming in autumn, which is docile to the insinuations of their leaves.

The woman whose hands are the hands of a child.

Which is now visible in the silence, which offers its eyes the animal that looks dark meekly.

Which has been with me in the beginning, the woman who has traced the shape of things to water hiding.