La noche, acolchada tarea de algún gato fantástico,
incendio de nubes,
concatenación de soliloquios,
alumbra farolas desechadas, soles mustios
que hiciera morir
la sola orden de nuestra Perséfone -querida
negrura,
ante la palidez argentina
de Selene, la bienamada-.
Night, quilted task of a certain whimsical cat,
cloud fire,
chain of monologues,
lights rejected street lamps, withered suns
turned to die
by the only order of our Persefone -dear
darkness,
facing the silvery wanness
of Selene, the beloved-.
And night arrives to the whimsical beam of another photograph, the last one, just today. And I want to grab darkness in my eye not to say farewell to light. As a black cat, the one in my wishes, night menaces my eye like paws in search of a slippery seagull. And I understand I am not cat but bird fishing the last sun rays on a little fish-like wave. Solitary soliloquies into the sadness of an enchanting sunset: nobody seeking a portrait just me, a seagull of photograth. Meanwhile the night arrives. Whimsical dream of a shotter of light in search of the likeness of the dark.