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jueves, 11 de agosto de 2011


   Oceans of kisses, hands of algae
 that one day I stroked
 before I was,
 without memory of you,
 far from Ítaca.
And today I have returned to look at myself
 in your silence,
 in the sweet quietude of your look.
   And you do not recognize me, do not hold me.
 You weave, unravel, days of silence
 Shrouds of courage and empty grey
 While the vultures overfly your soul.

 (From "The trip of souls", a book about paintings by Francisco García Torcal)

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