Who will remember the houses where they lived,
its streets and the moon and the snow of those days.
Who can remember that night that came to them forever
and in his hands that little piece of paper so beautifully written.
Who will remember the glances of his eyes,
perfuming the dawn,
in a world that both certainly inhabited.
Maybe one would remember his hair,
-oh, his soft hair-
and on his lips the kisses that brought them from the sea.
The time went away and maybe it does not come back,
implacable that day
each one found himself,
and they stay forever.
And although all things could not be remembered
one of them will resist oblivion,
that soft liquid with unknown flavor,
it has remained on his lips
like the soft stream of waters,
in love with the sea.