About the Dryads
I face the poplar tree
from my window
I love it
for years now, winter or summer, I keep an eye on it
from close up
sometimes full of foliage
other times with its dry branches
in the north winds
but I’ve never seen its dryad
that must live in it
although I paid much attention
and looked at it for hours
I never stopped
to observe it secretly
perhaps there weren’t any dryads
although no one
ever claimed so
perhaps my dryad
died years ago
perhaps, for years now,
she was added
to the merciless
and so unbearable absences
around us
Libros Libertad 