José Luis Remualdi

Tarde

En éste ocaso impávido del día
y de mi vida con nubes bayas
que en su algodón enjugan
auriroja la sangre al tajo largo
del horizonte como mi alma
embebe mi sangre nostalgiosa
al evocar de otrora atardeceres,
aunque es tarde en la tarde
y en mi savia, de las marrones
siluetas de niños exaltados
corriendo como hoy a contraluz,
digo sin dudar que una es la mía.




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Published on e-Stories.org on 10/10/2014.

 

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