Summer
is a path
that fringes the cliff,
transparency of the water between scattered islets,
thunderstones
and caves that link the beach
to the horizon.

Inland,
there are those who wear the sea
in their gaze,
sand drops in the outbreaks of dream.

Summer is a light-eyed boy,
a February Monday afternoon
at a bar in Madrid.

Translator: Richard Bueno Hudson