The wood, which was used

Without love

To make wings of planes

And windows,

That wood

Inhabited by the spirits of hundreds of birds

From when it was part of a tree,

They clung to it,

While contemplating the skin of their little babies

And thinking

The leaves, which protect me from the wind …

Are late …

The wood of that window


That there are feathers beneath its bark,

That someday

It will be able to steal

Out of these squares

Designed for it

And then it will fly high

Wiping away the sweat of workers from its skin


In front of children waiting for their school bus

That its origin was

A group of sparrows.


(from “An Angel Suspended on a Clothesline”)

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