Like the water that lives in the flowers (Como el agua que habita las flores)

Entry number 90.  On my lovely’s birthday (05/05/75), a poem that I know meant a lot to my Dad.  From his book The celebrated afternoon (La tarde festejada). 

Like the water that lives in the flowers (Como el agua que habita las flores)

Like the blue

at six in the afternoon,

when the red deer that graze on the hills

begin to arrive at the night.

Like the peacefulness

of sunrises in Cúcuta

before the muggy heat.

Like the joy

of the kites in August

on the custodian hills.

Like the minuscule water

that lives in the flowers

and in the gardens

recently awaken.

I feel you like that,

in the breeze that falls on my years,

certain about the distance of your fate,

deep in the memory

of the heart.

To my daughter Rocío.