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thanksgiving poetry

le hizo oyen hablar siempre
musing, entre la puesta del sol y la obscuridad
el pequeño lamentable, usado, caras el reír
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas
cuando la noche mandila a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad
arriba y abajo de él va
melancolía, azul era
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
hijas del tiempo
había una época en años anteriores
raza alto-llevada

 



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