The morning is full of storm
in the heart of summer.

The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye,
the wind, travelling, waving them in its hands.

The numberless heart of the wind
beating above our loving silence.

Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees
like a language full of wars and songs.

Here I came to the very edge
where nothing at all needs saying,
everything is absorbed through weather and the sea,
and the moon swam back,
its rays all silvered,
and time and again the darkness would be broken
by the crash of a wave,
and every day on the balcony of the sea,
wings open, fire is born,
and everything is blue again like morning.

Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos

We must dream our way.

Hoy es hoy, y ayer se fue. No hay duda.

In the end, everyone is aware of this:
nobody keeps any of what he has,
and life is only a borrowing of bones.