Anaclara

With a pencil
she writes on the walls "resist",
red and black scarf on her back,
miniskirt,
Anaclara.

Erases childhood
learning in fine arts to grow,
with rose bushes without thorns for breasts,
seawater,
Anaclara.

She's made of water
when the son falls in love with thirst
and if the child gives her a poppy
she cries alone,
Anaclara.

She never finds
because she always looks for ways not to find,
although she knows that the new is conquered,
anarchist,
Anaclara.

If she's hurt
so tender, she's afraid of dying
and then she puts thorns on the roses,
fearful,
Anaclara.

In the morning
she weaves the looms of doubt,
still naked asking the mirror
for advice,
Anaclara.

Hospitals
that know the sweetness of her hands,
pains are forgotten just by looking at her,
physiotherapy,
Anaclara.

If the path
Anadark always clear you want to see,
never leave,
Anaclara, your crazy companion,
your madness of doves almost falcons,
your passions,
Anaclara.