Nights of touch, days of abstraction,The unknown shuddered in my tonsil and crackled with an annual melancholy, sunny nights, moonlit days, And still, today, at sunset, I digest most sacred records, mother's nights, great granddaughter's days bicolor, voluptuous, urgent, cute. And even I reach, I reach me in a two-seat plane, under the domestic morning and the haze that emerged eternally from an instant. And yet, even now, at the end of the comet in which I have won my happy and doctoral bacillus.