You ask if you should take note
of this truth born between both.
Is better not to stain paper
just a caress and let it go.
Because all
is engraved in the scores of air.
You want to hold,
but the truth we awake is ours forever
and returns as a butterfly
between fibers of morning light.
And it will never come back to us
tangled in the hooves of the horse,
in mist form on the river
or as outbreak of a storm.
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