Ode to imagination

Time goes by, it flies and leaves marks on your face
and petals on your pillow. One day you ask yourself:
how to use time?

And then you search.

I looked in the lives of others
for the scent of dreams that were not mine,

and whilst standing before my own shadow

I discovered that in the snow too grow
flowers as white

as the first page.

the path of petals,

that leads to Possibility.

On the shore of that sea where life flows,

you and I have nourished a secret garden

where pruning errors grow

and those flowers of time that we planted

in silence.

Do or undo

we can always go back to that yellow forest

where some trees recall

stories of fractal lives that repeat

the same in different gardens

and they give, with their gaze,

the beauty of a trade

that smells of iris, rose or eucalyptus,

it depends.

Madrid,
December 12th 2017