Time does not redeem absences,
although today is seen as absolute.
Nothing can be revived in the now.
In murky brown, the eyes of
who it was are blurred,
it could have been and has been.


I can no longer reabsorb the aroma of
my private garden. Today the grass
thickens the walls, more powerful and grey
than its cement.
I cannot attract you at this moment,
nor in my dreams, even if
a white, always, paints the streets of a
constant and deciduous city.


I am no longer who I was,
the pain opened other sores and my dream of hope
paints in renewed tones, my poetry.


I went, but I'm not,
and in my dreams,
I remember who you were, but you left yesterday
and no one's waiting for me today.