Espacio para las criaturas cotidianas, que se dejan atrapar por la escritura.
acurrucada escucha el grillo,
un llanto acude,
serenata para una viuda
las tejas han dejado de moverse,
acaso, ¿habían estado ahí antes?
parece han corrido con la misma suerte
su sonrisa no se ha enterado,
¿es la luna quien le guiñe?
se muestra propensa al olvido
Un sueño aparece,
las migas de pan se asustan
¿es la fragancia del atardecer quien las ha despertado?
Las nubes juegan al escondite,
un ardor entrepiernas,
un pétalo de rosa salió a caminar.
Por: Margareth Acevedo
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