It was a clear, cold day, the sun was a sad
decoration, vanity at its worst.
The sky was like after-shave lotion with
a tinge of blue which stung a shaved face
with frosty bitterness.
I saw Amelia Earhart´s aircraft disappear
in the distance, only a doleful echo told me
of a tragedy about to happen…
On a lost atoll, a bottle of aftershave balm
glints in the sun, perhaps belonging to her
navigator, as does a diamond earring that
shines pitifully on the clarity of gilded sand.
Look up on a still, pale day and you will see
her little airplane forever disappearing into
a hazy past of remembered dreams.