Maybe it is because of the fog <br />that I caress you, <br />because all around me are fog, <br />dissolved shapes, things lacking <br />precision or definition, <br />things that turn into some vague <br />something without dimension. <br />I caress you, coin. <br />Nightfall in December <br />and you here in my hand, you, <br />precisely contoured, you, hard <br />resistant existence <br />with your body of fine silver. <br />Coin <br />with a number that cannot be conquered <br />by doubt or by fog <br />and with a face <br />that will never doubt, <br />face of an ancient queen, looking at me.<br /><br />Pedro Salinas y Serrano<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/coin-2/
