Delay
The summer ended quickly We ran out of time
Big clouds hung on top of the mountains
like masks of an ancient tragedy What should we do?
Our shoes no matter how old are always a bit tight
The light is narrow and the cloud is cinched down
We stop before the bloomed tree
before the nourishment and water
in front of tomorrow’s window
somewhat embarrassed panting
in the emotion of an eternal delay
With pinched feet how did we come this far?
Libros Libertad 