"I was born at the age of 33 on the day Christ died; I was born at the
Equinox, under the hydrangeas and the aeroplanes in the heat.
I had the soulful gaze of a pigeon, a tunnel, a sentimental motorcar. I
heaved sighs like an acrobat.
My father was blind and his hands were more wonderful than the night.
I love the night, the hat of every day.
The night, the night of day, from one day to the next.
My mother spoke like the dawn, like blimps about to fall. Her hair was
the color of a flag and her eyes were full of far-off ships.
One day, I gathered up my parachute and said: “Between two swallows
and a star.” Here death is coming closer like the earth to a falling balloon.
My mother embroidered abandoned tears on the first rainbows.
And now my parachute drops from dream to dream through the spaces
of death."
http://www.pequeñodios.cl/wp.../06/A...LINGUE-web.pdf