de la vida y otros cuentos.

Perdí mi sitio en algún lugar entre el espacio y el granito. Quizá se lo llevó el aire, quizá lo arrastran tus pasos. Ni espuma, ni corrientes, ni Marea. Anclada en un vórtice inexistente, golpeada por las edades del tiempo. Imagen

The dead are always looking down on us, they say.  While we are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich,  they are looking down  through the glass bottom boats of heaven  as they row themselves slowly through eternity.    They watch the tops of our heads  moving below on earth,  and when we lie down in a field  or on a couch,  drugged perhaps by the hum of a long afternoon,  they think we are looking back at them,  which makes them lift their oars and fall silent and wait,  like parents,  for us to close our eyes.  Billy Collins. Imagen