The morning wavers its crystal tiaras on the marbles. The statues are dressed with pearls and clouds, the transparent powders of the sidewalk embrace your steps in this corridor of water and insomnia, the sounds distill origamis of salt, tears and moon, the exiled white streets are waiting for your return, the city is a zephyr under the opalescent curtain and the waiting takes the resemblance of the windows, of the perfumes, of your name.