La vi bañándose
del otro lado del río
desde la barranca
que está antes de la iglesia.
Miré como el frío
estremecía su piel,
y sentí que era yo el viento
que a diario la tocaba.
¿Quien iba a creer
que miraría a este niño?
Yo tenía doce
y ella veinticinco.
¿Quien iba creer
que pudiera amarme?
Si yo era tan pobre
y era tan cobarde,
que no pude hablarle…
Y quedé en silencio
detrás de otro roble
mientras la miraba
del pueblo alejarse.
I saw her bathing
across the river
from the canyon
which is before the church.
I watched, as the cold
her skin shivered,
and I felt that I was the wind
who touched her every day.
Who would believe
that she would look at this child?
I was twelve
and she twenty-five.
Who would believe
that she could love me?
If I was so poor
and so I was such a coward,
that I couldn't talk to her...
And I was silent
behind another oak,
looking at her
while she was going away
from the town .
Poesía y fotografía