HOME

Clusters of amaltas -
my several hundred suns
Scattered across the bylanes
that I had abandoned.
Clouds of dust and smoke
Suspended on the highways
Homeless and unwanted
The new walls of my home.

The Impossibility of Being

What does one do of sorrow

The one that sits heavy on the heart

Cries rivers every night

And never lets the past depart.

What does one do with tears

That flow at every touch

Like there is an endless reserve

Even when there isn't much.

What does one do with hope

The flame that dies every day

Only to burn itself

Into the soul turned gray.