And when the crescent moon
grow in the night coming from the heart sliced in half
flowers bloom under the snow,
and the cold wind sillaberà its ancient stories.
I imagine you until feeling pain. When you look at you means
put me at risk
strip myself of every station and all that
the same wind tells you.
Move the seasons of my life as if moving the neck
by resting on an answer
floor clutching the lips….