tus mismos pasos,
confundirlos con otros
en dos pelotones de
presos que se cruzaban,
un guiño de ojo,
un sonreír amargo,
un adiós en silencio,
y tu silueta se perdía,
con la pollera al viento...
y tus pasos eran suaves...
muy suaves...
*
Luis Troncoso
Poesía Libre , nº 12 (Nicaragua)
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