Llega el silencio

                                                                                                                                   
Donde no llegan tus manos                                                                                        
llega el silencio para hablarte                                                                                    
de la otra orilla del río:                                                                                               
                                                                                                                                    
donde una lágrima                                                                                                      
es lo que parece                                                                                                         
te mira de cerca el agua                                                                                               
suspendida como una flor                                                                                           
de ninguna rama que la sostenga.                                                                               
                                                                                                                                     
Donde el olor de la luna                                                                                              
recuerda el olor de un día                                                                                            
y el vuelo de una metáfora                                                                                          
parece un pájaro o un pez                                                                                            
con paso lento sonríe                                                                                                   
entre los dedos del rocío.                                                                                             
                                                                                                                                     
Donde el viento da                                                                                                       
y te deshoja como a un árbol,                                                                                      
donde el bosque se convierte en ti,                                                                              
                                                                                                                                      
donde una nube solitaria                                                                                               
hace cielo.                                                                                                                     




A Romà Alonso