Buenos Aires
Is lonely open spaces
Thrown ajar
To the eyelid,
To the shaken eyebrow
Of a poet,
A winded summer
Of metallic roses
Spinning
Without purpose,
You feel like it
And take the train,
Bring a notebook,
Blue pen,
Sketch
At Plaza San Martín,
Dawning gravel kicked,
Kids flipping coins
At the sunless beat
Of a car engine,
Chance is mysterious,
But people even more.
Is lonely open spaces
Thrown ajar
To the eyelid,
To the shaken eyebrow
Of a poet,
A winded summer
Of metallic roses
Spinning
Without purpose,
You feel like it
And take the train,
Bring a notebook,
Blue pen,
Sketch
At Plaza San Martín,
Dawning gravel kicked,
Kids flipping coins
At the sunless beat
Of a car engine,
Chance is mysterious,
But people even more.
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