I live in myself, hunting stars,                                                   
weaving words, drawing faces,

traces of me die in my heart:

the fragile art of dreaming.

Time is hungry:

my petals were swallowed

but there so quiet in the dark,

you can see my doll waiting

for me.

Deep inside a puzzle,

a broken toy.

deep inside this thirst for eternity,

Penelope searching for joy.

Karla Bardanza

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