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.

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Isabel Sánchez H.

"Cazadora de un resplandor etéreo. Vuela."