has often used the metaphor of the river as life manriqueña. Minimum flow that comes crystalline impetuous runs down the mountain, grows on the experience of its course, as eddies near the end and ends up dying in the mouth it mixes with ocean water, ash of all stocks. Conceivably, however, another observation allegorically lives: the stairs. Unsupervised wear and tear, but as an attitude. The horizon which is always a top step and try not to take away intended purpose dismissive but comprehensive. Or that of someone who, by contrast, prefers to dig the underground final steps and muddy Remango not altruistic but to rejoice at lair. Turning to literary figures, can then be given the paradoxes of that anyone is reaching the delta of life and continue its efforts to reach the top of the ladder, but also the terrible shame of those who travel by the rapid course of their while down river itself with equal joy to the smallest steps.
hear late at night the policy statements possessed by the truth. More wood. At the station waiting the polls. Chop it up with viciousness, chipped, the highest landings of the stairs. The kettle boils. It loses altitude. I look then to the balcony to give me air. The night is warm and quiet. Across the street a girl toils under the light of a lamp in what looks like a loose folios reading about taking notes. A study that requires getting up from time to time to consult books that extracts prepared a small library behind him. After a while, also looks to the window. Look out from the eaves. The sky looks clear.
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