Clara and later.

Like who wakes up,
of a trip without time,
in their mouth they dried,
the precise words;
nothing so clear,
everything so dark.
I could not find your site,
nor in the virginity of autumn,
and maybe a borrowed love,
he would repair his bones,
or maybe the cold dew,
he would cleanse his faults.
The truth is that your universe,
it had an expiration date,
and that night after night,
what was left was solitude.