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lunes, 18 de julio de 2011

The angel of childhood takes my hand

The starving dogs bark at the Moon,
a faraway cricket sings
the song of the summer.
The Moon rolls, foreign,
in silent slowness.

Facing the stars,
combining emptiness,
the world smiles at me
with his cadaverous face.
All the black cats,
those of their eyes on fire,
look at me with their immobile smile.
The lights of another village
Are blinking fearfully,
The stars promise
New magical spells
And a faraway invisible hand
is crossing herself.
I recover ancient myths of childhood
My hair grows past my neck.
Rectilinear, my hips get longer and smooth.
The curves of my breasts are gently erased.
My skin softens.
The road widens
And an invisible hand
settles on my forehead.

  (From "Cemetery of sparrows)

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