Firefly's Anatomy (English version)

I search in the corners colorful butterflies

But

Only find fireflies between the flowers

That you put on me

Odds and ends of oils paintings on urns

On the walls

Broken sunrises behind broken glasses that

Reflects skies,

Few,

But skies, at least.

Sorrows which are stored in a pocket

Always in darkness

That,

Although you don’t want it,

Always see them.

You’ll see,

Someday will filter some light

On the corners of this room.

I never get tired

To dream that I’m dreaming with opened eyes

Without looking,

To look up,

To watch myself from above.

Life

That slips through the fingers of one lost hand,

That conspires with the Death in the gardens,

Sunk

In a deep twilight of hope

In constant flight.

Give me,

Then,

The fireflies from that story one day you stop to tell me.

Specular shadow (English version)

In the black and white of my lights and shadows, the glass is poured on the uncountable hours above the irregular soil. Just a few minutes before dusk the sky is falling and I don’t want to watch it. What displeasure the taste of broken wings, after continuous crashes against the window where you poke out. Wanders the distance, restless, from horizon to horizon, before that bronze dawn that hides between your legs. The extended avarice on the bed, it spills over the edges, and with wounded conscientious hands you gather all up not to taint with the black and white of my lights and shadows that, at the end, they are the one you know.