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Preciosa Y El Aire

by
 Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene
por un anfibio sendero
de cristales y laureles.
El silencio sin estrellas, huyendo del sonsonete, cae donde el mar bate y canta su noche llena de peces.
En los picos de la sierra los carabineros duermen guardando las blancas torres donde viven los ingleses.
Y los gitanos del agua levantan por distraerse, glorietas de caracolas y ramas de pino verde.
Su luna de pergamino Preciosa tocando viene.
Al verla se ha levantado el viento que nunca duerme.
San Cristobal?n desnudo, lleno de lenguas celestes, mira a la ni?a tocando una dulce gaita ausente.
Ni?a, deja que levante tu vestido para verte.
Abre en mi dedos antiguos la rosa azul de tu vientre.
Preciosa tira el pandero y corre sin detenerse.
El viento-hombr?n la persigue con una espada caliente.
Frunce su rumor el mar.
Los olivos palidecen.
Cantan las flautas de umbr?a y el liso gong de la nieve.
?Preciosa, corre, Preciosa, que te coge el viento verde! Preciosa, corre, Preciosa! ?M?ralo por donde viene! S?tiro de estrellas bajas con sus lenguas relucientes.
Preciosa, llena de miedo, entra en la casa que tiene, m?s arriba de los pinos, el c?nsul de los ingleses.
Asustados por los gritos tres carabineros viene, sus negras capas ce?idas y los gorros en las sienes.
El ingl?s da a la gitana un vaso de tibia leche, y una copa de ginebra que Preciosa no se bebe.
Y mientras cuenta, llorando su aventura a aquella gente, en las tejas de pizarra el viento, furioso, muerde.

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