September with sunset and princess. (For Claudia)

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September still my summer inside, 19 September is still summer, my summer, another quiet day at sea, in the beach, sand shells stones dry twigs, little things to look at and even bigger as the sea and the sky, and all these clouds that intersect, forming patterns that suggest someone or something bigger, immense, infinite in the square of our limitations, and then burning and  flaming sunsets or sunrises soft and  pink.

White sails are racing in my horizon, a guitar and a bandoneon play gypsy music  on the beach while  I’m writing poems.

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Summer September 19 we are still loving, still playing, still dreaming, still writing and flying away in these clouds, in this sunset burning as a volcano on a rock on a hill with a princess locked in her  tower, looking clouds go away and get lost, so far and so near to almost touch them on tiptoe, on fingertips, on the tip of the heart, from that window that looks at her world,  with the fire in and out, that she, the princess, can not afford the flight.

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