The literature is in the leaves.
In my reading there are red spots
regardless of the page I choose.

Those with paint
of other colors
ripped me or are broken.

Look at them down the river,
made boats that do not float.

But I trust.
I trust in that child
that will find my Santa María.

And the day that I see him
being the captain and author
who scores down the chronicles of what will happen.