THE NOSTALGIAS MAKER

The same bank in the same square,
always on Thursdays at the close of the afternoon,
the gaze fixed on ten or twelve tiles,
and a music box with a dancer,
sounding beside him on a rag,
accompanying his vague thoughts;
A deal with life had been made,
He did not owe anything, nor did she owe him
and when it's time to leave,
make love like never before,
with open eyes and attentive skin,
with candles and flowers and two glasses of wine.
Simply in its simple walk,
He let the night fall on his shoulders,
to take it round the corners,
and serenades the fireflies,
and water the carnations in the windows,
that once stopped opening.
They say that any Thursday,
the bank of that square was empty,
only the music box was left,
executing his celestial waltz,
while the little dancer dances,
and dance waiting for him to return.