Vestige
Your luck was instilling the sorrow of an annulled illusion, of an escaped and distant happiness; your exotic distinction was lending importance to the unending misfortune of an anomalous life. I was listening to your lamentations of a weak creature, threatened and fugitive.
You were dressed in blue and white, the colors of the momentary wave; and your eyes, with an amazed and distant glance, were condensing a nostalgic oceanic panorama. I was celebrating your daybreak and taciturn beauty of a northern bird.
You were decorating the afternoon; and I remember then the sunset’s melancholy was growing and the patrician city was being inundated by a stormy irruption of fog, indomitable messenger of the sea.
Benevolent death took you while sleeping to its dark and vain limbo; but your winged image, conqueror of oblivion, humiliates the weeds of my sealed garden with a supernatural marble whiteness.
La torre de Timón (1929)
{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }
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