All begins and ends between the ample wings
that connect my yesterday, my today and my tomorrow;
It collects me, it raises me and on the ground it alights
and although the faces change, my curious mind
goes in depth into the impressive and cretaceous Dallas.
Vast and high, its skyscrapers light up
the bridges by Calatrava and silver them.
Its center is a varied and compressed history,
as proclaimed by its six flags gathered
on the zenith of vertiginous hills.
An aquarium of dry water floods one part;
an electric guitar provides food to the
visitor. A little cabin survives
the pass of progress and to it, it circumscribes.
I remember the chant of some steaming cartridge shells
against innocuous silhouettes of punched paper.
I have not encountered yet the Caddo footsteps,
nor those of the dalasaurus, who stepped before.
In the asphalt, an ex and an erected memorial
commemorate the tragedy of a leader
reached by the bullet that ended him.
The cowboys of the ball gallop in droves.
I look up before the Old Red Museum
and another museum, of art, opens its eyes
to Goya and to other conquistadors of the brush.
And between journey and journey, visit and visit,
among the trees, lakes and galleries…
Dallas dresses me up of lace and organza,
with ivory overlays and a monarch train,
and a snow-white heart beats in my chest.