Federico Garcia Lorca
Capriccio
Behind each mirror
is a dead star
& a baby rainbow
sleeping.
Behind each mirror
is a blank ...
& a nest of silences
too young to fly.
The mirror is the wellspring
become mu my, closes
lime a anelo of light
at sunset.
The mirror
is the mother dew,
the book of desiccated
Twilights, echo become flesh.
Um espelho, muitas imagens. Um abraço, Yayá.
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