Dance of the Tender Leaves

My body trembles...

Trembles with an appealing bitterness.

Delight yourself smiling

In the penumbra of a dusky passage

Which confines a sad and tender tone...

Slow, nostalgic burden.

Drops in its bosom, drowning them,

Undertaking the silence,

But not the tranquillity.

Shades of perspired wax

In a cadenced perspective.

Chilled in the insubmission

To the theatrical final.

As fallen and humid leaves on the floor,

Agreeing with a penalty

That the winds condemned.

Awaked by disguised voices among the shadows,

Dancing around, ghosts dissembled as children.

Dancing around as if they were playing

The wheel of fortune...

Enclosed in the creation

Of a non-existent transparency,

We flow through the wrists,

Fearing a solemn audacity.

Fragile abyss that never goes away,

Enrapturing myself

With tremulous and sprinkled puddles,

In a winter's overcast nightfall.