Llum, galzes del migdiadels arbres que ara tanques,alta que acariciesles coloracionsdel temps—La fosca cellaque el vent acotxa, celsd'escata de moll.Ànsiaque et fas boca i el goigi el deler de ser l'aiguai els aires, plata encara, desesperant-se.Joiadels ulls, foc que encens, verdanit.Plomada de llum fosca la presènciade besllum, sulla, al llindar. I els seus ullsflamissats, crits d'ala astorada el celdels seus ulls ara, la brosta verd ànsiadels cors.

-Albert Roig

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