Very far away
in the pockets of a pair of old
trousers
which my mother kept
- my mother keeps everything-,
I found
the nights we used to spend
walking, my friends,
along the streets of Xàtiva.
We talked about everything,
about good and evil.
Very few things were clear:
the uncertainty of the future,
the eagerness of us children.
The walks of summer nights
are in front of me today.
Up and down...
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