The hopscotch is played with a pebble that has to be pushed with the tip of the shoe. Ingredients: a sidewalk, a pebble, a shoe, and a beautiful drawing with chalk, preferably colored, on top is the sky, below is the Earth, it is very difficult to get to the sky with the pebble, it is almost always miscalculated and the stone leaves the drawing, little by little, however, the necessary skill is acquired to save the different squares (hopscotch, rectangular hopscotch, hopscotch of fantasy, little used) and one day you learn to leave the Earth and climb the pebble to Heaven, until you enter Heaven, the bad thing is that right at that height, when almost no one has learned to trace the pebble to the Sky, childhood has just been blown and it falls into novels, in the anguish of the divine rocket, in the speculation of another Heaven that you also have to learn to get to, and because you have left your childhood you forget that to get there to Heaven are needed as an ingredient, a pebble and the tip of a shoe. "

(fragment of Rayuela chap.36 . Julio Cortazar)

                                                                                 

SALUDAME LIKE WHEN PASSING, THAT DAILY, ONE GESTURE SAYS ALL.

A DAY ANYONE MAKES THE MOST SOFT LOOK, BUT SUSTAIN IT,

THAT ONLY BE A WITCH THAT PENAS LETS SEE YOUR SMILE MORE TENUE.

INVITE A COFFEE, SPEAK ME OF SIMPLE THINGS, I DO NOT WANT IT TO APPEAR

ETERNAL, BUT CONTINUOUS, DO NOT LET MY EYES FALL, LET ME LOSE IN YOURS

UNTIL HE DOES NOT LISTEN.

FROM ONE MOMENT TO ANOTHER, LET A LOYAL SMILE RELEASE, COMPLICIT FROM

MY APPARENT DISTANCE.

THEN I AM GOING TO LAUGH DISCUIDLY, I WILL INSINUATE TO BITE MY LIP

LOWER.

WITH CERTAIN PICARDY, WITH CERTAIN INGENUITY, AS CONSISTING THE KISS

THAT YET TODAY YOU WILL NOT GIVE ME.

SLOW, SOFT, DISTRACTED, BUT WATCH US.

(Convince me that, the look is everything or ALMOST) to A.P

        POEM OF THE DAY AFTER

         A tree dressed as birds,

                                         and only a sparrow in the window.

                                         The sound between the sounds.

                                         A little bit of my dream.

                                         Tomorrow stopped, gray Sunday,

                                         Motionless since a few days ago.

                                          It's three winters,

                                         My soul quiets down

                                         Looking for a fantasy I closed my eyes,

                                                                            Sad.

                                                                            You can still lose your innocence.

                                       Like the memory of the twinkling,

                                      Of sparks from a mountain fire,

                                       That burned to sing their timbers,

                                       That I illuminate the night with the compas

                                        of the moon,

                                       Because today, it is waning.

                                        Ashes of the dawn.

                                        Hardly smoke or haze.

                                        Warm.

                                                                    So warm was our love.

The sun, a chair, my bear
Fruit trees. Olive trees and the river.
My tricycle and my boy jeans.
Photos of mom. Absence.
Walk in patent leather shoes.
My grandparents. Rice with milk.
The two legs of the clock.
Checkered apron. Naps in the kindergarden. Smell of varnish, wooden blocks. My grandma, the train, at 6a.m. Chacarita, sometimes the cemetery. The belt of my mama.Onas flip flops of Silver.The Wonder Woman's costume.The key that always is lost. A move with your mom. Higa no. A black eye Two black eyes. The disc of Los Parchis. Mrs.
Achala.Skates and pizapizuela. Pool at nap time. Masamorra. The roses of my grandmother. My grandfather's tero. Absence. The 86. Getaways. Quail eggs. Two friends and a boyfriend. Afternon  in the club. The house of Cristina. The hamburger on the roof. The soap spell. A kite and the bonfire of San Juan. My best friend. Night of Quija. A faint in the water. Absence. A bouquet of violets. A permit until twelve. Vacations in a camp ground. Absence. Yellow tractor. 7 Universal History, D de distinguished in Speech. Absence. Full time from  6am to 12 pm.
Absence.
Absence.
Absence, no final period