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Friday, April 27, 2012

reconstruir



And my bones cannot bend any more.
There is no space left for them to break into.

I have exhausted all breathable air around them.

You will never find me here,
Huddled against this ancient bark,
For one,
You never came to this neighborhood.
For two,
You wouldn't be looking.

You aren't looking for me.

In fact,
I don't think you even have eyes anymore.

At least,
ones without that slick and mysterious glaze.
Like that of a slowly sputtering geyser:

A strange gelatin

Settling on top
Of what was once a pool of clear blue.

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