I have not seen another woman, I can swear,
like her, who knew how to empty her handbag
with such style on the pavement.
She was looking for the car keys and only
her essence was left floating in the air,
with each falling object, a sigh
revealing her hidden world,
a labyrinth of dreams and secrets.
A lip painted in coral carmine,
a mirror that holds her laughter,
where meadow flowers peep out,
paper bodies that tell stories
of loves lost on April afternoons.
Silver scissors cut the shadows,
and among the mist, a hurried clock
that marks the steps of its destiny.
At that moment, in the autumn light,
life stopped to observe,
in its search for forgotten keys,
the moon peeped through the leaves,
and the wind caressed its smiling face.
It was more than an act, it was poetry,
the serenity of his daily art,
the dance of a woman on the pavement.
And at last, amidst laughter and echoes of life,
the keys found, a small triumph,
but as big as the sky that embraces
the one who, without knowing it, draws the calm
in the simple chaos of her walk.
I have not seen another woman, I can swear it,
who with so much art knows how to show
that even in the everyday there is magic,
a divine spark in every step,
a story to tell in every corner.