Vals Ecologico

A carnation of the air told me,
and has left an alyssum,
that you keep a gladiolus
that knew how to seduce you.

I found out about the rubber tree,
the corporal who was a jasmine,
and I knew that a lemon tree
perfumed your garden.

I held onto a marigold,
a daisy, remembering
that you were my lady of the night,
my joy of the home.

I made you the philodendron
in that dark hallway,
if I watered the shoots for you
and fell in love on the wall.

If your mother jungle saw
how you have returned now,
like a deciduous plant,
parasitic and climbing.

Your fern has dried up,
the geraniums faded,
and finally, with so many grafts,
you have the fallen pothos.

I ask Saint Rita
why your name changed,
you are no longer my Daisy,
you are no longer my Daisy,
now they call you Malvón.