I have a grandson at the top of the world
where they can't reach it
the rough caresses of my misfortune.
I'll never be able to explain him
about the flowery desert,
the teluric dialogue of the volcanoes,
or the greenness of centuries
over the Chilean araucaria forest.
An ocean of another blood separates us,
I'm asking him to forgive my dark genes
on the glass of his childhood.