butterfly has four wings;
flying you have four lines;
she, turning, slipping through the flowers
you by the lips, turning, sliding.
As lights his robe, you exhale
your way divine brightness,
and pretend eight flights Shakers
your four oars and four blades.
soul you already entangled in a complaint,
and the blue bell of a fence,
and a shawl in the airy fringe.
In the Andalusian town, couplet, you were born,
and have musical bird, thy nest
of the guitar in the hollow sound.
........ ..................
Salvador Rueda
1857 1933
