The morning

   The morning leaves its crystal tiaras on the marbles. The days are dressed with waves and clouds, the transparent powders of the sidewalk embrace your steps in this dance of water and distances, the sounds distill adaggios of salt, tears and moon, the white streets are waiting for your return, the distance is a zephyr under the celestial light and the waiting resembles the opale of the windows, of the perfumes, of your name.