The Slow Scripting of Bronze

On the bronze shoulder, rough and severe,
that defies the sun and constant rain,
an unknown veil, without spring,
settles in an irresistible and changing gesture.

From the metal’s womb, slow and wise,
its new epidermis extends,
an ancient color that history lays down,
which the centuries among themselves keep,
a weave of epochs that unfolds and is given.

It is the patience that matter learns,
the dense sediment of every lived moment,
a truth understood by touch,
time itself in its changed garment,
another eternity that has been created.