These cold nights how many
sparrows come to dream in
our one orange tree and
our one pomegranate tree
to dream and poop all night
all the colors they flew
through eating the day
reduced to these black
and white runes strange
fortunes spent on bricks
I hose down afternoons
sweeping the dust
from the leaves also
and from the air
the cold the night’s
bright mask.
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2 comments:
А! Grande, he encontrado lo que he estado buscando
Sounds good, I like to read your blog, just added to my favorites ;).
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