Vicente Gómez Quiles
SEGORBE
Alto Palancia, mi sombra amiga.
Olivos del fértil valle, encinas...
Segorbe: crepúsculo de piedra
dando forma al aire en pinceladas
suaves, mojas mi garganta seca;
acunas la palabra precisa.
Acuarelas verdes, fantasía.
Rumor en las albas siempre bellas.
He visto la puerta de Verónica,
las torres de Botxí y de la Cárcel,
la glorieta Botánico Pau
ancladas en la frágil nostalgia.
Y el aire se llenó de peces
sobre un ramillete de lágrimas.
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Published on e-Stories.org on 06/26/2011.
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